Do Not Fear the Dark
by Axis II
Summary: A friend in danger causes an unlikely reunion at Skyhold and plunges the core of the Inquisition into the Deep Roads for secrets therein. (follows To Have Purpose but can be read independently) M for language
1. Visitor

_I kneel at the altar of Bioware's divine ownership. Same as everyone else._

* * *

><p>Eve Trevelyan stood before the – what? It wasn't really a war table anymore. The map was full of markers and operations to be considered but none had the dire urgency that had fueled their efforts before. There were petitions for aid, demands for privilege, requests for pest control and at least three calls for her to attend social functions. The war was over but the work never seemed to stop.<p>

"If I have to go to the Thibault's masque then Cullen goes with me. I refuse to be the only one hunted across the dance floor." The Inquisitor announced adamantly. Leliana stifled a laugh as horror crossed the Commander's face. She and Josephine tended to enjoy the elaborate celebrations and found only amusement in their associates' frequent suffering.

"You can't be serious. I barely came away from Lady Richelieu's soiree with my uniform intact!" Cullen protested. The man who had faced Darkspawn, apostates, Red Templars and - on one memorable occasion - an infuriated Morrigan without ever batting an eye was unmistakably worried now.

"You are exaggerating. The Comtesse was perhaps overly enthusiastic in her flirtations but she did not intentionally rip your sash." Josephine chided.

Eve chuckled at her memory of the scene. The ornate noble woman had allowed one hand to drift imprudently close to Cullen's belt line and he'd leapt back like she'd poked him with a dagger. The suddenness of his retreat startled her and it must have been reflex that sank her dangerously long fingernails into the accessory, tearing it loose. The surprising event was talked about for weeks. The last time she'd heard the tale it had progressed to the Comtesse wrestling Cullen's pants off and him fleeing the ballroom half naked. Varric probably had something to do with that.

"This would be different, of course," Leliana smoothly assured, pausing for dramatic effect, "Young Celeste is still unwed and I believe her family are keen on strengthening their ties with us."

"No. Absolutely not. If they want a political marriage they can bloody well throw her at the Inquisitor herself." The former Templar shook his head, one hand slicing the air as though he could sever the very idea.

"Do not think they aren't considering it." Cassandra pointed out, ever the voice of objective reason, "They likely would entertain either option so long as it cements their status."

That thought did much to wipe the smirk from Eve's face. She had been careful to diplomatically receive the attentions of both genders but had hoped to keep her preferences out of the public eye. Particularly since that preference had grown painfully specific of late. Becoming Thedas' most eligible woman didn't figure well with her own intentions.

She stole a glance at Cassandra, trying to gauge the Seeker's own thoughts or feelings on the matter. She could be damnably impossible to read. Eve might convince herself that the note of irritation in the other woman's voice was jealousy but she knew it was more likely a perpetual impatience with politics.

"Perhaps we could just send Blackwall?" The Inquisitor hazarded, hoping for an escape.

"No. Celene has not yet completed his appointment as a Chevalier. Also, if you recall, he punched a Baron last week." Josephine shook her head.

"That was here, not at a party. And he didn't know the man was a baron, he just didn't like the way he was whipping that horse." Cullen jumped to the defense of their friend. The incident had momentarily polarized the council; the Ambassador and Leliana both irritated by the political cost while Cassandra, Cullen and herself all wanted to cheer. Blackwall's defense had been impeccable: anyone that can abuse an animal can do even worse to his fellow man. The reasoning had brought them all into harmony once more.

"Regardless, the Baron will be at the masque. I doubt he cares for any reminders of the incident. Though, I am given to understand that he has since burned all his riding crops." Josephine allowed a hint of approval in her voice. If only all aristocrats learned lessons so easily.

"The Inquisitor must attend. With whomsoever you choose, it does not matter; but offending the Thibaults now would be a costly mistake." Leliana stated firmly. She had a particular tone of voice that she seldom used. An iron finality edged every word no matter how gentle. When that tone swept over the council, no one argued. Like the most powerful magical spell it was all the more revered for its rarity.

"Fine. Send our gratitude and delight at the prospect." Eve surrendered with a sigh, leaning a little more heavily on the table. Losing the first argument of the morning was a bad precedent.

"I'll attend as well." Cullen gently agreed, his voice groaning in empathy. She gave him a wan nod of gratitude. He was a true soldier: duty first and no comrade left behind.

"Perhaps, just on this occasion, you could be permitted to wear your armor." Cassandra's suggestion accompanied a deliberate glance towards the Inquisitor that made her smile.

Her protective streak manifested itself in the most covert of ways and Eve had been delighted to notice more of a pattern lately. The dynamic of their friendship had shifted subtly since defeating Corypheus. Not so much as to create either awkward fear or impulsive courage. The Inquisitor would bet 100 gold that Cassandra didn't even feel the change, let alone recognize what it was. Eve herself only felt the edges, trying to discern the size and shape of this new relationship and where it might go. Consequently she was hyper alert, watching for any cues or hints of what was expected; all the while choking her hopes lest she assume too much.

"That would probably be wise," Josephine agreed, "The next item, your worship?"

Eve nearly missed the question, still caught in Cassandra's gaze. Only the flicker of the Seeker's eyes told her she needed to pay attention. Damn it. Now the other warrior was just smirking at her.

"Right, uhm," she paused, scanning the map, "The letter from Denerim is probably important."

"King Alistair is looking for us to solve yet another of his problems. What is -," Leliana paused and turned to the door. For a few seconds the rest of the council stared in confusion. Then came a cautious knock. The admitted servant rushed to Josephine, avoiding eye contact with all the superiors and mumbling his message.

"Odd. Leliana, a visitor has arrived asking to see you." The Ambassador conveyed the news with obvious curiosity. New arrivals at Skyhold tended to seek their preferred leader directly. Aristocrats and merchants all went to Josephine. Soldiers and fighters found Cullen. The clerics and faithful sought Cassandra, a familiar face of the Chantry. Leliana's visitors were always of a more clandestine nature and came directly to seek her in the secure confines of the rookery.

"Did they give a name?" the spymaster addressed the nervous servant directly, watching the young man squirm.

"She said – she said," his tongue stumbled over the words, a blush already infusing his cheeks, "To quote her, Most Holy, she said 'If the bard still insists on being birdbrained then she can call me Swallow.'"

The statement elicited a variety of reactions; primarily confusion but with dashes of offense (Cassandra) and humor (Eve). Only Leliana kept her mask neutral. Her minute tell was a slight narrowing of the eyes, a worrisome suspicion darkening her gaze.

"I will come see her presently. When we have finished." She nodded to dismiss the embarrassed servant and he all but ran to the door. As he yanked it open there was the familiar rumble of conversation that echoed up from the judgment hall and then one sudden voice burst through all the others.

"Maker's balls! This place is colder than Andraste's marble tit!" the words positively hung in the air over the council after the door slammed shut again. Eve watched her advisors, completely lost and trying to find clues in their expressions.

"I have never known a woman to blaspheme so . . . creatively." Cassandra finally broke the silence, annoyed yet somehow impressed.

"I have only ever known one." Leliana's brow creased now, suspicions turned to certainty. Cullen's worried countenance was in tune with her exact thoughts.

"This will not be anything good." The Commander shook his head, looking to the spymaster for direction. Leliana was already formulating a strategy.

"Cullen, go find Varric. Quickly. Josie, suggest to our guests that they should seek entertainments away from the throne room. I will deal with," her mouth turned with a touch of playfulness at the corner, "this _situation_."

* * *

><p><em>All reviews and feedback gratefully received.<em>


	2. Reunions

Eve and Cassandra were adamant on joining Leliana. The Inquisitor because she sensed a rare opportunity to discover some secret from the left-leaning Divine. Cassandra simply because she detected danger. Regardless of their motives, both strapped on weapons before following their companion from the council room. Every problem felt more manageable with a sword. Leliana halted them at the door to the judgment hall, eyeing both warriors skeptically.

"She asked to speak with me, yes? I would prefer to do the talking." There was that iron tone again, the suggestion turned command. Letting the silver tongued spymaster lead discussions was never a bad decision. She held facts, secrets and tricks that no one could ever anticipate. Empires might rise or crumble on the turn of her words. Yet there was a touch of worry in the line of her mouth, a suggestion that this coming encounter would be different than others. Who could so rattle the unflappable Leliana?

As if to reveal the answer they stepped into the main hall, Leliana gesturing for her companions to follow her stealthy lead. The vaulted chamber was surreptitiously emptying as Josephine moved through the crowd, subtly urging them away. The touch of an elbow, a briefly whispered word, a disarming smile; Josephine played crowds like a conductor of the royal orchestra and they simply melted away. The Antivan spotted her three associates as they moved quietly into the room and she nodded imperceptibly in the direction of a table at the far wall. The sign was redundant. There could be no missing this spectacle. It reminded Eve of the artwork she'd seen in Val Royeaux, tastefully debauched.

A woman reclined atop one of the tables, a bottle of wine in one hand as she expounded some lesson in weaponry to her audience. Guards, young noblemen and even a few servants had gathered around her, many sitting as close as possible and every one of them rapt with fascination. She twisted towards one of the younger, richer blue-bloods, teasing the fringe of his hair as she smoothly drew his sword completely free from its scabbard.

The Inquisitor's instincts started her forward, hand reaching for her own weapon but a gesture from Leliana stayed the move. If the redhead believed there was no threat then the warriors obeyed. Besides, Sister Nightingale could throw a dagger with deadly precision faster than Eve could cover the ground. They stepped closer, approaching from an angle the foreign woman couldn't see. Not that she was bothering to try. She was busy studying the expensive blade in her hand.

"Inlaid with gold and polished to a mirror shine. You can tell so much about a man by his weapon," she observed, leaning coyly towards the proud owner, "And you think far more of yours than anyone else ever will. You've never stuck anybody with this skinny thing and you wouldn't know how if you had the chance. This toy will never see use beyond your own polishing hand."

The audience burst into laughter as she shoved the sword back into the flushed noble's grip. He burst to his feet, intent on defending his honor but before his mouth opened there was a dagger scraping beneath his chin. Eve looked to Leliana yet was still denied permission to intervene.

"Don't get me wrong, Sonny, sometimes a little prick is all you need. But then you _really_ have to know what you're doing." She purred, letting the tip of the weapon trace the line of his throat. When he'd turned sufficiently white, the woman withdrew the blade. Dismissed by an amused but disdainful smirk the humiliated noble skulked away. Taunts and appreciation from the rest of the men filled the air as the foreign woman drank long and heavy from a bottle of wine, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm.

"Now," she declared, resuming her subject with enthusiasm, "This is a real sword,"

She shifted towards one of the guards and slid her fingers along his belt before bringing them to rest on the pommel at his hip,

"Not some pointed stick to whip out and waggle; this has heft. It has," she pulled the blade out slightly, appreciating the smooth glide, "Experience. Sharpened but no polish, you see? This is a man who fully intends to get his blade dirty. A lot."

Punctuating the last words she thrust the weapon back into its sheath. The guard winced at the movement; face flooding with the sort of discomfort he obviously wished would never stop. The other men were all either grinning like naughty children or drooling in jealousy. The charged air was moments from an orgy or a bloodbath.

Cassandra lost her patience and strode forward. This time Leliana didn't interfere.

"Enough! Back about your business, all of you." The bite of the Nevarran's words hit every face like a slap; no one dared to meet her gaze. The hormonal spell thus broken, the crowd scattered guiltily; some of the men walking more awkwardly than others. Only the woman remained, pouting as she watched her army of admirers disperse.

"Someone isn't very fun," she sighed and turned to size up the interrupter, eyes slipping past the Seeker and straight to Leliana with what could only be called wicked delight, "Nightingale! I knew you wouldn't leave me waiting long."

She rose languidly from the table and prowled towards them. Eve had never seen such movement; all predatory seduction and cocksure swagger. How had the woman walked through the courtyard of Skyhold without causing pandemonium? _No wonder she's cold, _The Inquisitor's eyes swept over scant clothing, _Only person who wore less was Morrigan and she had magic to keep warm._ The Inquisitor wondered if she was staring. She _felt_ like she was staring. Even Josephine was transfixed.

"Eager for another singing lesson? Or has your instrument completely rusted from neglect?" The exotic visitor leaned one arm on Leliana's shoulder, pressing close enough to stage whisper into the redhead's ear but with her face turned to toss a wink at Eve.

Throughout every inch and bone of the Inquisitor's body her frustrated libido began to beat a staccato reminder of neglect. _How long had it been? _At first it hadn't felt important in the face of fear and adrenaline and ever-impending crises. Then it seemed smarter to keep such needs out of the picture; they'd only complicate the fragile relationships being formed, possibly even compromise their alliance. Eventually Eve decided to forgo any such indulgences out of respect; respect for the Inquisition, for its followers and ultimately for the object of her desire. Now, however, the muted need heard a siren call beckoning. _Too fucking long. _Being repressed out of necessity couldn't weaken desire, only wear out control.

"'Swallow' indeed. You are shameless, Isabela." Leliana's tone was easy and pleasant, amused that her old acquaintance would still bother to try such seductive tricks. The bard was apparently immune to the woman's wiles.

"Wait – THIS is Isabela? The pirate Isabela? The story one?" Eve vaguely recalled being told not to talk but that order flew out of her mind the second the name burst in. Isabela wasn't just a story, she was a legend. If even half of what Hawke and Varric said was true . . .

"There's only one, sweet thing." The dusky skinned woman smirked, basking smugly in her fame. Eve recalled Varric's description: '_The Rivaini pirate has the biggest, most supple, unbelievably exquisite . . . _ego_ you will ever see.' _Clearly that and more.

"My Lady Inquisitor, meet Isabela, the self-proclaimed Queen of the Eastern Seas." Leliana nodded between them, knowing there would be no proceeding with business until introductions were handled. There was a trace of sighing relief in her words, pleased that the foreign beauty's attention had turned to their leader. Eve might have noticed if she weren't so fascinated by the amber gaze now consuming her. The pirate's arched eyebrow was challenge, threat, mockery and seduction all crammed into one like wanton bedfellows.

"Ah, so you're what all the fuss is about," Isabela folded her arms and walked around the warrior critically, "I must say, you are quite the specimen. Your weapon, such a monster! Tell me you know how to use it."

Eve was acutely aware of the pressure of a touch gliding down the blade sheathed on her back. There was the faint jangling noise of her jewelry as she moved and the smell of wet sand.

"No one has complained yet." She shot back, noting the spike in her heart rate as Isabela leaned closer and Eve felt breath on her ear. She hadn't been this tempted since Imshael offered her a bribe of virgins. _Desire Demon, Andraste's ass! He's got nothing on this woman._

"Mmm. Well said," Isabela murmured appreciatively, the purr raising every hair on the back of her neck, "Wielding a sword this size? That takes power. That takes . . .stamina."

Fingers gripping the scabbard tugged slightly and Eve instinctively shifted her weight, resisting the pull without breaking free. How long had it been since anyone toyed with her? Tested the edges of her charm?

"Just a matter of practice," the Inquisitor looked back, enough to see anticipation in the curl of Isabela's lips, "Though the right sparring partner helps."

The curl grew wider, the playful twist of her lips mirroring the expression in her eyes. They could keep this going for hours. Two conversations folded into the same words, a teasing dance enjoyable as much for its own artistry as for the desired outcome. The scrape of nails just below Eve's shoulder tingled down the length of her spine. _Maker, I missed this._ Sera was wonderfully lewd but lacked this finesse. Leliana was a practiced flirt but she always kept the Inquisitor in her place. Josephine was simply too sweet. Cassandra . . . _Cassandra . . ._

"That is the Sword of the Inquisition. A symbol of truth and justice. Not a phallic metaphor for your groping." Cassandra's disgusted tone was like a bucket of ice-melt poured down Eve's collar. She actually felt goose bumps rush over her skin as she spun and took a step back from the pirate. Further away from Isabela was good. Closer to the Seeker was better.

"Too bad. I love a good groping, metaphoric or not." The cheeky sailor winked to Cassandra before turning her attention back to the room around them. Now vacated except for the occasional scurrying servant there was plenty of space to roam. The pirate moved away, theatrically examining the massive hall the way she might survey the deck of a ship.

_What just happened? _Eve took a sobering breath. She stole a guilty glance at Cassandra but the other warrior was too busy glaring holes into the Rivaini's head.

"I do not think you simply came to exchange pleasantries. Something brought you here, yes?" Leliana probed, watching Isabela's movements with genial suspicion. She was indulging the woman, both of them playing innocent as only true sinners can.

"Your Inquisition has been quite in the thick of things lately, hasn't it?" the raven haired woman sauntered around the judgment seat, "And you, Songbird, have the sort of connections that can spread news easier than a cheap whore's legs."

Isabela paused her exploration, studying the protruding blades of the throne and running one finger over the dull edges. She lost herself in some distant musing; undoubtedly either dirty or violent. Possibly both.

"What of it?" the spymaster pressed gently, urging words into the silence.

The pirate wanted to evade the question. Eve could clearly see the instinct in the way her muscles coiled. There was a tension in her shoulders, bracing in the agony of fight-or-flight response. Whether she found internal courage or merely surrendered, her posture finally relaxed as she made a silent decision. She shifted, throwing off invisible weights and straightened, turning to Leliana.

"What have you heard from Weisshaupt?" Isabela's eyes were fixed firm on the redhead. The façade of casual indifference in her manner was cracked at the edges, concern bleeding into the question. Mention of the Grey Warden's stronghold charged the very air of the room. Suddenly the presence of the lustful rogue took on a more sinister import. The four women of the Inquisition exchanged glances, each silently asking Leliana for her secrets.

"Nothing of late. It's been silent." The redhead cautiously released a fraction of her knowledge.

Her words were guarded but true. It had been a matter of concern for weeks now, the loss of communication with the northern seat. Leliana's network informed her that wardens had been moving back into the southern kingdoms and that the order was fracturing like strained ice. Rumors were plentiful and more than once Blackwall had pinned a loose-mouthed gossip to the wall, ordering them not to prattle about things they couldn't know. His loyalty was unshakable but there was no denying his worried doubts.

"The last word from the wardens' fortress was that the Champion got there safely." Eve volunteered, earning a sharp glance from Leliana. The glare reminded her of the looks she used to get from her mother, a warning that one more infraction would have consequences. _Time to be quiet, darling, the grown-ups are talking._

"Which is, of course, why you're really here," the spymaster turned her attention back to their visitor, "You're looking for Hawke."

"Sharp as mustard, aren't you?" Isabela's eyes rolled heavenward and she strolled back to the group, arms crossed, "But your sails aren't quite in the right direction. I already went hunting for her sweet ass."

"You went to Weisshaupt?" Cassandra momentarily forgot to scowl at the pirate. The question earned her a glare of her own from Leliana.

The new Divine was still a bard at heart. She loved the rhythm of the games, the dance of hints and half-truths as everyone tried to work out what was at stake. Her companions were clearly spoiling the fun. Still, this was their first chance for news of the stronghold and impatience preempted intrigue.

"Why not? Hawke wrote that she was heading there. I was enjoying a bit of sport with the slaving ships in the Nocen Sea," Isabela casually downplayed her efforts, "When I saw that the sky's glory hole was closed to business it seemed a good time to offer my congratulations."

"And a nicely worded letter just wouldn't do." Leliana had that tiny twist at the corner of her mouth again, the one that betrayed both her understanding and fondness for the duelist.

"Naturally. Hawke does so appreciate my personal touch." The seductress' fingertips deliberately brushed along the inner edge of her strained bodice. Cassandra's noise of disgust was ignored.

"Isabela," Leliana's voice had been nothing but dulcet and playful until now. Now it was loud. Loud and strangely hesitant,

"Isabela!" the call came again, Eve turning as she realized it wasn't Leliana who'd spoken. At the far end of the hall she could just make out what looked like a waif with a large stick coming in the massive entry doors,

"I know you told me to wait outside but there was a demon that kept trying to talk to me," the girl approached, turning this way and that as she took in the massive throne room and its ornamentation, "And you said I wasn't to talk to demons anymore but he seems quite nice so I wasn't sure and I thought I should come find you."

Each time something caught her eye the newcomer's feet instinctively followed. Her swerving progress abruptly checked when she collided with a servant, spilling the contents of his tray to the floor.

"Oh, sorry! Let me help!" she yelped, bending over to pick up the scattered goblets. Unfortunately, the staff (Eve could tell it was a staff now, not a stick) strapped to her back moved with her and promptly knocked the tray from his hands as well. The servant bent to catch the silver but missed and the sudden clatter startled the girl, making her jerk back up. The tip of her staff caught the servant in the chin and sent him reeling. Now he was desperately trying gather up the spilled items while avoiding the small woman who'd begun chasing him in a circle to offer help.

"Oh, Kitten." Isabela sighed with affectionate sympathy and went to aid her companion. With one hand on her friend's arm she shepherded her to the safety of their waiting circle.

"I should help fix that. I've been working on the healing spells." The little brunette Elf hadn't stopped looking over her shoulder, watching as the servant did his best to balance goblets on the tray without letting go of his bleeding face.

"He'll be fine, Kitten. A bandage and this story guarantee he'll get the rest of the day off." Isabela assured, urging her friend to focus ahead.

"Oh, I do hope you're right. Are these the friends we're looking for? Did you tell them already?" The mage looked at each of the Inquisition women in turn, eyes impossibly wide.

"She was just about to." Cassandra's bristling temper was hitting the breaking point. She had folded her arms into a posture that promised swift punishment for any further delays. Whom she would punish would have to be a matter of debate since - once more - noise burst into the echoing hall before Isabela could open her mouth. Cassandra's exasperated oath was lost beneath one much louder.

"Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks, Curly! If you're shitting me I will take my losses out of your hide! I was holding four knights with 30 silvers bet!" The coarse threat was followed with several more muttered curses that halted mid-syllable when Cullen finally dragged Varric in far enough to see the situation.

"Rivaini! Daisy!" the Dwarf greeted with genuine delight, "Just couldn't keep away from me, could you?"

"Varric, you smoldering stump! I sold that lock of your chest hair for 20 coppers and thought I should harvest some more." Isabela happily bent low to kiss her missed comrade's cheek and tease her fingers through the ever-exposed blond curls.

"Ah-ah. Bianca's been turning into the jealous sort. You know she has that hair trigger," he winked, immensely pleased with his own pun, "Daisy, look at you! You got all the way out here without a ball of string?"

"No, with a ship. Isabela's actually," Merril helpfully corrected, "Not all the way, of course. Can't sail up a mountain, can we? I mean, maybe with the right magic but I haven't tried and we were in a rush and the caravan was passing through and . . .,"

"Rambling, Kitten." Isabela put a calming hand on the Elf's shoulder. Merril took a deep breath.

"It's good to see you, Varric." She finally simplified, gratefully accepting a rib cracking hug.

"Anyone else coming, pirate? Perhaps that apostate who sparked the uprising?" Cassandra had clearly given up; if she didn't get to punch someone soon then she was going to storm away and destroy something helpless. Ser Morris was already complaining about how often he had to replace her training dummies. Leliana's fingers barely graced the Seeker's arm, a gentle request to stay patient just a little longer.

"Isabela, what happened? Why are you here?" the former bard managed with unassuming calm to command everyone's attention. Whatever excited chatter the reunited friends had been engaged in fell to silence. The charm and dignity that Leliana artfully wrapped around herself like a mantle demanded admiration from allies, obedience from followers and even begrudging respect from enemies. She was going to be a magnificent Divine.

Isabela scanned Leliana's face, seeing the seriousness that had taken hold. The time for bets and bluffing had ended; cards on the table. Her eyes swept over the others present. There was anticipation, confusion, trust and doubt; all held at bay awaiting her next words.

"Hawke is in trouble."

* * *

><p><em>Feedback will help tremendously as getting the voices of these different characters to interact takes a lot of fine tuning. Comments and suggestions are also welcome.<em>


	3. She's No Varric

For anyone wondering, this fic draws from the DA games plus the comics by Bioware's Gaider and Freed for Isabela's character.

* * *

><p><em>Like I said, my crew was having some sport outside Tevinter. Fenris had been feeding us ship manifests and docking schedules for the slavers. More fun than regular merchants and profit enough on the side with the rest of their cargo. Everyone saw the war fought at the breach. It looked like one of those ocean vortexes that swallow ships whole but swirling up into the heavens instead of down to the grave. Death at the end of either one, I suppose. <em>

_The whole crew watched. Except for the ones that must've been watching me. As soon as the sky sealed itself with a scar that looked like a knife wound plus four day's infection, my mates were at my side. All smiles and silence and knowing looks, smarmy bastards. But the crew could use some leave time. And we did need to sell off the last of the stolen goods before we made for any proper port._

_Asariel is quite handy that way. Right on the coast and the right size to support enough merchants so that they're all looking for an edge on each other but not so big that the Imperium keeps a close eye. Easy to slip in a ship without declaring and offloading the goods without a chit. It's also the closest port for reaching Weisshaupt. Celso had the nerve to remind me. As if I cared. As if I might have forgotten._

_Have I mentioned I hate horses? Rhythms are all wrong; all bounce and no roll. I nearly thought of just trekking to the fort on foot but I decided to conserve my strength. I'd need it for better things once I arrived. Did you know Hawke and I once spent two full days in bed? Didn't leave the room even once. By the second morning I don't think I could've walked anyway. Hadn't been hammered like that since . . .well, I think she broke the nail. The fun bit was not even needing to leave. That mansion bedroom was more than enough space for all sorts of fun and of course she had servants we could send for absolutely anything. Although Orana did balk at fetching a few simple things from the Rose._

_What? You don't care to hear that part? Tough tits. I spent hours getting my ass sore in the least pleasurable way I've ever known, riding that shite beast. I had to think of something to keep myself amused. All for nothing, in the end. When I got there Weisshaupt was little more than a shell; the gutted hull of a lost battle. There were dead Wardens everywhere and by the look of it half had died killing the other half. I've seen mutinies. This was a bloody riot. Whatever pushed this crew over the edge they weren't happy to just string the captain up or abandon him at sea. This lot bound him to a flagpole and took turns cutting off pieces._

_I didn't find the body but I found enough survivors. They'd bandaged up and dug in and there was no chance they could survive another attack but their last act of loyalty had been making sure the commodore – First Warden, I think they said – was cut down and given proper burial. He'd been tortured, poor sodding devil. None of the rank and file knew what the rebels wanted and they were all too busy fighting for their lives or bleeding out to stop and ask questions. When the First fellow bled out without giving up the right secrets they set fire to the fort, took a handful of hostages and ran off._

_I tore through every foot of that stronghold. Do you know how many rooms that place has? I've not touched so many dead bodies since pulling in the corpses of my crew on the Wounded Coast. Can you get taint off a dead Warden? If so, it'll be just days before I'm hearing the Old Gods and drooling like Janeka was. Maker's blue balls, I hope the facial hair isn't part of it. _

_I searched and I asked and there wasn't any sign that Hawke was at Weisshaupt when the revolt happened. One of the lads – he'd lost an eye – thought he recalled Hawke leaving on a mission shortly after the breach closed. Another poor sod, fighting to save his leg by the smell of infection, remembered someone returning after the battle. He was quite delirious but he was sure an ally had visited after the carnage. No matter that he didn't know what day it was or even how long ago the battle happened; he was adamant that someone's hands had checked his injuries and assured him of help just yesterday. The unknown friend left him a satchel of provisions, a fresh bucket of water and then took off after the rebels._

_That sounded ass-headed enough to be Hawke. It wasn't hard to find the trail. I left that four-legged rage demon back at the stronghold, figured they could either use it to fetch aid or to make a sound meal. I didn't much care which, it was easier to hunt on foot. The fleeing Wardens left tracks like rampaging brontos and so long as I watched close it wasn't hard to spot Hawke on their heels. The first grove where they camped for the night was at least four days cold. There were several more not far apart; they were moving slowly – probably the fight of the hostages and their own wounds weighing them down. By the time I found their third place of rest I finally saw Hawke's first. She'd been tracking nonstop through the night. That woman's a blighted demon when she's on the warpath. Barely stops to think, let alone eat or sleep. She had to be close to dropping if she took a rest._

_It's easy to spot where Hawke has camped once you know what to look for. She never truly relaxes when there's danger. Not even when there are three, six or eight companions with her, all taking their shifts at night watch. She still won't let go. She'd always sit with her back to a tree; let herself lean back just enough to rest but not get comfortable. I can't count the number of times I'd wake up and see her balancing at the edge of sleep, ears always alert and waiting for the first hint of trouble. Kind of fun to mess with. She has this trick for staying awake. One hand stays on her weapon the whole time while the other plays in the dirt at her side. Her fingers pull out the blades of grass, dig up the small rocks; tilling the soil and then packing it down until it's smooth and flawless. It's painstaking and takes forever just to have a blank patch of ground. Then she carves a design. Over and over she cuts the earth in this pattern only she knows. Once you've seen it, you never forget; that was how I knew I'd found her camp site._

_She was easily three days behind the rebel Wardens. The coals from her fire hadn't lost all their heat; she wasn't more than a day ahead of me. If I'd just caught a swifter wind to Asariel, or found a faster Maker-damned beast . . ._

_I tracked Hawke. She tracked the Wardens. They never strayed too close to any roads or cities. Not until they reached Cumberland. That's right, all the way through flaming Nevarra. If they wanted to reach a port it would've been closer to just go into Tevinter but they didn't. Maybe Wardens aren't safe in the Imperium. These ones shouldn't be welcome anywhere. I don't know how Hawke figured out their destination from Cumberland; she probably just asked the harbormaster but I've never gotten on well with authorities. It took me a full night in the tavern with sailors from nearly a dozen different ships before hearing mention of Wardens that sailed to Jader. Cost half my gold from our last spoils too. Rum soaked leeches._

_Once I hopped off the puddle dinghy into Jader it was easy to follow Hawke. She left a trail of terrified thieves, thwarted smugglers and swooning spinsters positively cowering in her wake. My favorite was the cute little blonde. I shouted Hawke's name in the marketplace just to see what would happen and this adorable cherry blushes to her britches. Hawke had landed just that morning and happened to be nearby when a young noble was getting overly forward. She never has much cared for handsy types, unless they're getting friendly with her, of course. Typical Hawke, she laid the bastard flat with one punch then pulled the flower from his collar and gave it to the girl. She's been ruined for life._

_You can imagine how delighted I was. Not that Hawke was flirting with little virgins, though that does make me quite proud. She was only half a day ahead. I barely even felt my hangover anymore. I was too busy thinking about finally catching up to her. Maker, the oaths I planned to scream. Some of them might even be in anger. Naturally, she'd be upset with me for following her but not too upset to be happy. She'd scold me, I'd punish her, there might be some spanking . . .Hmm? Sorry. Then we'd set off and round up these blighted Wardens, free the hostages and accept several bags of grateful thanks. Just like old times._

_I lost the trail at Orzammar._

"What do you mean you lost the trail?!" the impatient question had been on everyone's lips but Cullen got there first.

"I mean, Dimples, that there are some doors even I can't open and this side of the Black City? They include the blighted gates of Orzammar! She went into the Deep Roads!" Isabela shot back, matching his tone in equal measures of frustration.

Her anger barely covered the sullen frown that accompanied such an admission. The woman who'd crossed the Felicisima Armada, stolen from the Qunari and invaded the Crows' own 'House of Graves' never dealt well with admitting defeat. Very few problems in her world couldn't be solved with a strategically placed dagger or tongue. Neither had worked on the dwarves.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hawke in the Deep Roads? Again?!" Varric pressed one hand to the side of his head, holding the impossible thought in place. He felt sweat on his trigger finger just thinking about it.

"I know. 'Not for all the gold in Orlais' she said. Balls." Isabela scowled. She'd been present on the one brief occasion when Hawke and Varric had talked about their adventure underground. It was late at night in the Hanged Man and they were all very, very drunk. Both idiots were prone to exaggeration but in this rare instance the pirate was willing to believe everything they said no matter how extreme. It explained why Hawke thrashed so much in her sleep.

"Why would rebel Wardens go into the Deep Roads? They couldn't all be subjected to the Calling at once." Josephine had a tendency to tap her stylus on the writing board when she was anxious. The tiny sound now would've sent woodpeckers into fits of envy. Wardens, the Deep Roads, the Calling; it was all too familiar and everyone was desperately trying to avoid thoughts of the worst explanation. Almost everyone.

"Corypheus is dead." Eve stated flatly. It was the one thing she was sure about. There were nights when she couldn't sleep and she questioned everything else but there was never even a shred of doubt in her mind on that single fact. It was what kept her sane. It was what eventually let her sleep.

"Could the Nightmare have found its way back from the farther reaches of the Fade?" Cassandra looked to the Inquisitor. So many threats lingered past Corypheus, the tendrils of a broken spider web still clinging to every surface and waiting to be found. That exact thought was a fear that destroyed sleep for anyone who'd been in the Fade after Adamant. Eve's helpless shrug was no consolation.

"Even if that were the case it still doesn't explain Hawke chasing the Wardens in. She's not subject to the Calling. If they want to run down there and commit ritual suicide she should've let them." Cullen frowned.

The commander had known Hawke for years in Kirkwall. Their interactions had been guarded and confrontational at first but eventually they'd developed mutual respect. She was crazier than a pack of Sylvan-dwelling squirrels but he'd learned to trust her. She had to have a reason for this hunt. Something more important than mere revenge.

"'Bela, you didn't tell them about Bethany!" Merrill protested, full of confusion and reproach.

"Shit, Rivaini." Varric groaned, seeing Isabela's guilty wince. True to her nature, she'd tried to keep one card tucked in her sleeve. (Though the scantily clad pirate actually had to keep them in the top of her thigh boot). He instantly knew the piece of information she was holding back. Call it a narrator's knack.

"Hawke's Warden sister? You said she had been sent on a mission at the border of the Anderfels." Eve turned on the dwarf, unconsciously mirroring the same stance Cassandra assumed when dealing with their storyteller. Getting honest facts out of rogues was like trying to chain a wraith. When you couldn't trust their words, however, you could always look for answers on their faces. The worry currently etched on Varric's was three short stories and a sad poem.

"She had," Isabela interceded, rescuing her friend, "Which was lucky. Made it that much easier for the two of them to meet up at Weisshaupt. That's probably half the reason Hawke went. She hates not having eyes on the girl and Captain Man Hands had to go back to Kirkwall."

"They took her, didn't they? As a hostage." Varric shook his head, not even having to see the sailor's nod of confirmation, "Poor Sunshine. Kid can't catch a break."

The severity of the situation continued to escalate as more pieces were added to the puzzle. A Warden uprising at Weisshaupt, rebels with hostages trekking into the Deep Roads, the Champion of Kirkwall on their heels to rescue her sister. No matter how Eve turned the picture in her head the only thing she could see was blood.

"Forgive me but I do not quite understand. Distressing as all of this is, why exactly did you come to us?" Josephine fiddled with one of the gaps in the story.

It was a logical question but one Eve had stopped asking. Everyone with a problem came to the Inquisition. Templars trampling your farm? Get the Inquisition. Mages singeing your roof? Call the Inquisitor. Bad crop of apples this year? Well, the Inquisition must have a solution for that. Maker, they did just about everything except rescue cats. Eve quickly said a prayer to the Maker that the next operation on the map didn't involve saving anyone named 'Tiddlewinky.'

"Dwarves get a bit hard-assed about letting people into the Deep Roads," Isabela explained with a bitter taste in her mouth, "Wardens and Champions sure but not sailors. If Varric can't grease the way then Nightingale can carve it for me."

The pirate looked at each of the two allies in turn, certain one of them could solve her problem. She'd dragged her ass from Orzammar to this Maker-forsaken ice cap with one clear objective: getting through those stone-suckers' steel doors and resuming her chase. By politics or poisons, she didn't care how.

Eve vaguely recalled Varric's prediction after Hawke left. _Isabela's going to be pissed. She'll go whether Hawke likes it or not._ The pirate had set aside her powers of seduction and now it was easier to see the stubbornness of her stance, the resolve in her face.

Over her time with the Inquisition Eve had learned to read death in others' eyes. She could tell those who had seen death and those who had caused it; those who feared it and those who gloried in its art. Even rarer, she recognized the people who'd already died; empty inside from too many pains and losses. A few - like Leliana or Cassandra - had the shine in their eyes of dead ones reborn, granted second chances in life. In the flashing amber of Isabela's gaze lay something different; death experienced and escaped so many times it no longer mattered. She was a survivor; few people could be more deadly. Without her fun-loving flirtatiousness as a mask, Eve realized a truly dangerous woman stood before them.

"We will need to confer," Leliana spoke for the first time, nodding to her Inquisition companions, "Varric, please take our guests for some refreshment."

Isabela opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by Varric as he grabbed her arm.

"Right, try not to be too long. Rivaini tends to start fights when she's impatient." The dwarf nodded and led both women away, luring the argumentative pirate with promises of whiskey and soldiers.

Quickly reassembling around the war table the council of the Inquisition regarded one another. The operations table in the middle of the room was a silent burden, every marker a reminder of pressing duties and obligations. Where did this crisis fit with the rest of their agenda for sorting out the world? Where did it fall for each of them? Eve rested her fists on the map, studying it and each of her advisors in turn.

Josephine had a familiar line marring her brow, knitting up her forehead in worry and concentration as she began flipping through pages of correspondence and reports. Questions raced through her eyes as they flickered over the pages. Had they ignored some crucial warning of this brewing storm? How were their ties with Orzammar? Did they have enough influence to open the gates?

Cullen's mind wasn't just far away but long ago; lost in a rarely visited time of the past. Kirkwall was so recent yet already a lifetime behind them. He wasn't the same man that he'd been as Knight-Captain under Meredith. What were the odds that Hawke was still anything like the woman he remembered? Come to that, what did he know or remember of Isabela? Somewhere in his memories had to be a basis either to trust or suspect everything she said.

Cassandra's scowl could've been etched into stone. Anger was her instinctive response to all disruptions. Eve hadn't yet figured out if the temper came from a deep-seated, festering rage or maniacal control issues. _Probably both_. Her Seeker training gave her discipline and self-control. After investigating Templars she'd come to despise manipulation and deceit. For the Chantry she lived a life of faith and virtue. No person in all of Thedas could be more her opposite than Isabela. The antipathy was painfully clear in the lines of her mouth.

Even Leliana had turned inward. She'd kept her reactions guarded all morning, never revealing any emotion. Her polite words and neutral smile would've pleased and fooled the finest nobles in Orlais. Now she was distracted in her own contemplations and the façade slipped; confusion dueled with worry in her expression. Doubt coiled and flashed in her eyes, concerned well beyond thoughts of Wardens and uprisings. Whatever suspicions she held, she kept them her own.

"Thoughts?" Eve finally broke the pensive silence, rousing all of them from their musings. No one immediately responded. Each person was still sorting out the facts, hesitant to be the first with a decision on matters so large and sudden. Cassandra's patience had vanished. If someone had to declare an opinion then she was willing to start.

"Varric would have told the story better."

* * *

><p><em>Reviews, comments, feedback, predictions, criticisms - anything anyone wants to throw - all invited.<em>


	4. Introductions

The Herald's Rest tavern was noisy any time of day. Raucous soldiers coming off rotation, new arrivals asking questions, anyone with enough coppers to drink to the Inquisition and then of course all of Bull's Chargers. Not to mention Maryden. Varric personally believed the bard (who's only weapon training was thumping drunks with her lute) performed in the center of the chaos just to test her lung power.

"How long are they going to be?" Isabela leaned her elbows on the table. When she wasn't staring into her swirling mug she was stealing glances at the tavern door. Despite the casual slant of her posture and teasingly exposed thighs her whole body was wound for action.

"Relax, Rivaini, they'll be quick. You're no fun sober, either drink up or I'll hit you with the bottle." Varric sighed, pouring more liquor into her cup. The first drinks were consumed in companionable silence, waiting for the burning heat to ease into coiled muscles. It had been a long time since Isabela journeyed so far without the comfort of a deck rolling beneath her heels. Two years at least. She was ill at ease, stranded in foreign terrain far from her beloved sea.

The dwarf could almost see the war within his friend's mind. Isabela on land had always been a sight to behold. She drank with abandon, fought with glee, cheated with impunity and only spent coin on liquor and whores (rarely even those since often someone else paid). That was the rogue he whiled away so many evenings with in Kirkwall, scandalizing citizens and deflowering virgin ears.

Isabela at sea . . . that was an entirely different creature. He'd only learned the flip side of her personality after the crisis in Kirkwall imploded and everyone had to scatter. The first time he boarded her new ship (Siren's Call II– she wasn't overly creative about these things) and saw her in action he wasn't sure it was the same woman. She ran her ship with precision and easy control. The crew was commanded with affectionate threats and constant insults but there was a fierce loyalty shared between them and their captain. Obedience was absolute and in exchange she gave them protection. Varric had always thought Isabela a force to be reckoned with but until the day he saw her at the helm of her ship - eyes unflinching in the face of threat and shouting orders with steely calm - he'd never realized that she was worthy of fear.

She might be relaxing at the tavern table, loosening up as the whiskey took hold, smiling provocatively at absolute but attractive strangers; there was still the commander beneath her skin. At sea her crew was the men on her ship, on land it was the motley patchwork of friends that had found themselves united by common interest. Now one of her crew (the -ha!- 'First mate' of sorts) was in peril; no wonder she couldn't relax.

"Varric, is this ale made from something different than at the Hanged Man? It doesn't remind me of an outhouse at all." Merrill abruptly broke the silence around their table, passing her mug over for a refill. The dwarf's face registered surprise. He didn't realize Daisy had ever drunk anything other than bad water. Time alone in Kirkwall had been changing her as well it would seem.

"They use some local herbs. Actual water too from what I'm told. Not rat piss." Varric grinned, pouring another few sips into the elf's cup. Whatever she may have drank before he suspected she'd be the giggly sort of lightweight.

"Oh, that's clever of them, isn't it?" the small brunette wondered appreciatively. The two rogues exchanged smiles. Merrill always had that affect. It was like watching a puppy play –eventually other concerns stopped mattering because something impossibly cute was right in front of you. Varric kicked back, leaning against the tavern wall and propping his boots on the opposite bench.

"So, is it still 'Isabela' then? I thought you preferred Captain. Or, was it Admiral?" he inquired, settling in for some friendly prying.

"Only at sea. That's where it means something." Isabela shrugged, topping off her mug again. The dwarf signaled Cabot for another bottle. Whiskey this time; it would loosen the pirate's tongue.

She had to have known Varric wouldn't be satisfied with the evasive answer but she enjoyed teasing him along. Isabela was capable of talking about herself at length; exaggerated adventures and ribald descriptions to spellbind an audience for hours but she never gave away truth about herself. Not if she could help it. Varric was one of the few who could wheedle it from her ever-twisting mouth. He often mined her broken brain for bits of narrative gold.

"Uh-huh. So that was just a load bilge water you were spilling after Seheron? About not being sure if you were 'Isabela' anymore?" the dwarf rolled his eyes but pressed on.

"Who else would she be?" Merrill's confusion shot back and forth between the two.

"That would've been before rendezvousing with a particular person who reminded me just how sweet my name sounds on the right lips." Isabela's smile was three parts wicked with a pinch of wistful.

"Ooh, that's a dirty bit, I know that." The elf chimed in once again, clapping her hands.

"Yes, Kitten, it was very dirty. Except for when we got in the water. Then it was dirty and wet." The dark skinned sailor smiled proudly at her protégé. Varric watched the animated girl blush without any waver to her smile. He really needed to give her a copy of Swords & Shields. Rivaini couldn't be the only corrupting influence.

"Funny," Varric interrupted the touching mentor/pupil moment, "Hawke didn't mention seeing you when she arrived."

"How did you think she got to Ferelden?" Isabela countered, smile wide enough to be pure memory. Well, not 'pure' precisely. Wherever Hawke had come from, it must have been several days' journey. It would take at least that long to give her pirate lover this particularly smug grin. It wouldn't be the first time that the Champion censored her stories where Isabela was involved. It took three days of drinking, wheedling and comparing alibis before Varric finally found out just how Hawke's smalls ended up flying from the Viscount's flagpole in Kirkwall. Aveline had been livid.

"So, you'll stay Isabela because that's who Hawke wants you to be?" Varric pushed once more. He was at the edge of something crucial in the sailor's psyche. He could tell from the flicker of emotion across her face and curl of knuckles around her mug. She might fight him every step of the way but the dwarf sensed a telling bit of romance beneath her lewd reminiscences.

"Isn't that who she is? To everyone?" Merrill continued trying to make sense of the conversation that kept slipping just beyond her comprehension.

"Look, it's only a name, alright?" Isabela growled in irritated surrender, "Any name is just a name until it's not. It gathers baggage and stories and you have to decide if they're worth hanging onto or if it's time to switch up and start fresh. Mine has enough blood on it to raise a legion of demons but it's still a good name. Good enough."

The rising intensity of her voice betrayed the deeper emotion in Isabela's words. Honesty didn't come naturally to the pirate but by the same token she didn't always realize when she was being honest until it was too late.

Varric nodded, listening to what she said and all that he knew she wasn't saying. Rivaini had a gift for dirty limericks and descriptive blasphemy but she seldom knew truth between her lips unless it was tattooed on a cock. How long had he and Aveline watched her and Hawke dance around each other? He'd lost his shirt half a dozen times to the guard captain because Kirkwall's champion had more balls and honesty than the rogue sailor. He'd won big in the end, though. He'd bet on Isabela's loyalty and it paid off.

"Your name has certainly created its share of legends. It's changed a bit, along with you," Varric ruminated, swirling his mug of whiskey, "But no matter how much you change you're still Isabela to Hawke. That's all she ever wants."

"She has a funny way of doing that." The pirate agreed; mildly awed and possibly disgusted at the power another person had wielded in her life.

No one else could ever make Isabela change. Hawke was the only one who'd ever said she didn't have to. Isabela could've switched her name to Andraste or Jimmy or – Maker forbid – Aveline; Hawke would accept it and be just as insufferably stubborn about loving her. The Champion adamantly accepted the pirate for whatever she was or wanted to be. That (horrifying as the thought was) had gradually led to her being someone better.

Their sentimental reflection had enjoyed the gentle strains of Maryden's lute strumming in the background. The melody ended, fading into the noise of the tavern before returning with the upbeat plucking notes of an all too familiar song. Varric grinned, knowing it would take less than a minute for every ear in the tavern to recognize the piece. _Every_ ear.

"I told you to stop singing that bloody song!" the angry eruption startled only Merrill and Isabela. Everyone else was used to the outbursts. Varric looked up to see Sera hanging over the edge of the second floor railing, arrow already cocked and aimed at the bard.

"I will not have my creative work hindered! It's self-expression." Maryden held her lute defensively but refused to budge. Varric mentally applauded. The singer had proven tougher than anyone thought. She didn't even bat an eye when the arrow sank into wood just inches from her head.

"It's shite is what it is! That new verse is worse than the rest!" Sera jumped over the rail and flipped to the lower level, ready to make her point more aggressively if she had to. She grabbed her arrow and yanked it back out of the beam, the pointed tip hovering dangerously close to the other woman's face.

Those who had noticed changes in the lyrics to 'Sera Was Never' thought it best not to comment. The verse about not being quiet had taken on an entirely different twist of meaning. Anyone who might've missed it couldn't ignore the new lines beginning with 'Sera Was Never Quite a Loveable Girl.' It confirmed the general suspicion that Maryden had gotten to know the elf more . . .personally. It must not have ended well.

"Everyone's allowed an opinion." The bard sniffed, unimpressed by the crazy elf's intimidation.

"Slander ain't an opinion! I don't have to stand for it!" Sera had a tendency to snarl when she was angry, her whole face contorting into imminent explosion. She looked like she'd either sneeze or bite someone's nose off.

"Of course not. You could sit. Or perhaps just fall asleep? You seem to do that easily enough." The accusation had just enough bite to be based on experience and Sera flushed clear to the tips of her ears. The elf couldn't respond without confessing or confirming things she didn't care to share with an entire tavern. Maryden had smoothly scored the winning point.

"Maker shove you up His arse." The blonde spat and stormed away. She was headed for the courtyard training range, likely to riddle a target with arrows until it resembled a quillback. Varric had a better solution and he waved the whiskey bottle overhead, catching her attention.

"Over here, Buttercup." He beckoned the sulking rogue to their table. She dropped into a seat beside Merrill, giving the other elf little more than a cursory glance as she grabbed the drink. She drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the eyes on her. When she finally coughed for air she noticed the strangers looking at her.

"What? You buy tickets to a show or something?" she demanded, slamming the bottle down.

"You put on shows? Any with puppets? I love the ones with puppets." Merrill had been wary of her fellow elf but now her eyes lit up. Sera stared at her. Then she looked at Varric with the same quizzical expression everyone had after their first exposure to the brunette's unique brand of innocence. She could set fire to an army of Templars from 100 feet away but squealed like a child at the sight of a colorful butterfly.

"Kitten, if this one had her hand up a toy's ass I don't think you'd want to be watching." Isabela sagely advised. Sera inclined her head, acknowledging the shrewd assessment.

" You're right there. Should've done it to that stupid tit bard. Would've shut her up for sure." The elf scowled, pouring what was left of the whiskey into her mug.

"You really shouldn't make her mad, Sera. I heard her telling Cabot she might accept other people's ideas for verses. You could end up the longest song in the history of Thedas." Varric signaled the barman for another bottle. Eyeing the angry elf, worried pirate and confused mage he modified the order. They'd need at least three. But he'd keep a close eye on Daisy.

"'S not right! She can't say whatever she likes. That song is a ball of druffalo shit and it only happened once!" Sera had a way of switching thoughts mid-sentence that could make her conversations nearly impossible to follow. Varric, fortunately, had learned that consuming the right amount of alcohol made her far more coherent. Drunk nonsense was her native tongue.

"What was only once – you sleeping with her? Or falling asleep on her?" the dwarf questioned, never one to pass up entertaining bits of gossip. The world's best secrets were aired in taverns and whorehouses.

"What? Either. Both!" Sera shook her head, trying to dislodge the correct information, "It was the night of the victory celebration and I was piss drunk, alright? Flissa's taken all those bloody vows and Harry hasn't got eyes for anyone but Scarface. I'm not proud of it, yeah? But it's not like I go singing songs about being angry she was still in the sheets next morning! And that's worth being upset about!"

Varric, Isabela and Merrill all paused, letting the bizarre range of confessions sink in. For every answer Sera gave there were two questions born and none of them were sure where to begin.

"Harry?" Isabela looked to Varric for clarification but the dwarf could only shrug his own confusion. Buttercup had her own way of thinking.

"Yeah. Harry, Harold, Herald, see?" the archer replied, proud of the play on words, "Better than Inky, anyway."

"I think she prefers Eve but whatever makes you happy. Don't let the Seeker hear your nickname for her." Varric warned with a resigned shake of his head.

"I'm not totally daft." Sera protested with a maniacal giggle that completely contradicted her claim.

"Oh, no? What do you call lining the quartermaster's office with rat traps before dawn?" the dwarf challenged. He had a list of stories longer than both arms; all of them proof that if Sera wasn't crazy she was close enough to pass for it.

"He'd set 'em up all over Skyhold. Like people have so much more right to this pile of rocks than the animals what been here for years. They weren't doing any harm and I bloody well put my toe in one of the damned things hunting for an arrow!" Sera – champion of the oppressed, avenger of injustice, and general boot in the ass of the spoiled elite – was not above the occasional petty revenge. Morris' screams woke half of Skyhold.

"Were they proper rats or the city type? I used to like the rats we had in the mountains but the ones in Kirkwall were all so mean and sad." Merrill recalled, thoughts far off. Only the petite brunette would get nostalgic for vermin.

"Just like the elves then, yeah?" Sera smirked. Merrill was quiet as she considered the comment. Anyone who didn't know her might have assumed her serious expression was over the insult dealt to her kind. Varric, of course, knew it was just her customary reaction to humor.

"I suppose. It's not a very fair comparison though. Most of the rats are perfectly nice if you leave them alone." The brunette finally agreed. Sera burst into a laugh, partially choking on her drink.

"You're really something different, aren't you?" The blonde wiped away whiskey that had escaped her mouth and took time to truly study the mage. The archer was never particularly fond of other elves and she had an especially low tolerance for Dalish. The way she and Solas fought! The Inquisitor always insisted on putting either Cassandra or Iron Bull between them to keep from killing each other.

"Am I?" Merrill looked to Isabela for guidance but the pirate just waved her mug, abstaining from the conversation. The odd chemistry between the two elf women was far too entertaining to cut short.

Buttercup got a particular glint in her eye when she was getting ideas and Varric had a feeling she was forming some about Daisy. He shot a glance at Isabela and while her subtle nod acknowledged the signs, her contented grin refused to interfere. Merrill had piqued Sera's curiosity and the brunette may have been flustered but she was clearly enjoying the attention.

_Well, nugshit. This will be weird. _Varric surrendered.

"Dalish, right?" Sera waited for the other woman's nod of confirmation, "D'you hear the one about the Dalish fella' in the brothel after last call?"

"No." Merrill bounced excitedly. She'd heard every dirty joke Varric and Isabela knew plus all they could invent. She usually missed half the punchlines and only understood the rest after careful explanation but it was worth it to see the flush race over her cheeks as understanding dawned. Of his hundreds – perhaps thousands – of devoted readers, Daisy would always be Varric's favorite audience.

"He comes in just before dawn, yeah? And the Madam says it's too late for business, he'd have to come back. He argues and argues with her and finally offers to pay double." Sera delightedly began the lewd story for Merrill. Varric wasn't sure of the age difference between the two women but in this shared aura of illicit mischief they both looked like naughty teenagers.

"One of the whores who'd had a slow night thinks she'll get the better of him, take the coin without putting in any extra work so she makes an offer: for two sovereigns she'll give him as long as it takes for her to pick up 50 silvers off the ground. Figures she'll get the extra silver as bonus and the tit will be gone in less than three minutes." Sera continued, carefully detailing the setup. Merrill was completely spellbound.

"An hour later the madam's pounding on the bedroom door demanding to know why they aren't out yet and the girl shouts back 'Bastard only had coppers, I'm still on my knees and he's having a third go!'" the loud finish was followed by Sera's boisterous laugh, matched with chuckles from Varric and Isabela as well. The story wasn't bad but the real fun was what would inevitably follow.

"But I thought she wanted to be done quickly. Why was she with him an hour? That's not fast at all. Is it?" Merrill questioned, trying to make sense of the completely illogical.

"No, course not but she was still picking up all the coins. I mean, you have any idea how many coppers that would be?" Sera explained, confused by the other woman's confusion.

"Fifty silvers worth? 5,000 I think. Wouldn't it be, Varric?" the mage looked to her friend for confirmation. Everyone tended to look to the dwarf businessman for clarification of money matters.

"Yeah, but that's a big difference, innit? 50 coins to 5,000?" Sera continued to argue in defense of the story.

"But would it really take more than an hour? Did he scatter them all around the room or just pour them in a pile?" Logic and humor never went well together and very few jokes could stand up to Merrill's unique dissection.

"It doesn't matter. Say he poured them in a pile, it'd still take longer than the Chant of Light with a stuttering sister!" Sera, despite the ridiculousness of the conversation, was obviously enjoying herself.

"I think it could be done quicker than an hour. I'm sure I could do it." Merrill declared, logic having circumvented common sense. Isabela laughed, knowing her naïve friend hadn't a clue what she'd just volunteered.

"Let me know when you're ready to experiment then, yeah?" Sera's smile grew impossibly wider as she coyly leaned into the other elf, "I'll definitely be wanting to help."

This time the blush that suffused Merrill's cheeks colored clear to her ears and there could be no denying the comprehension in her eyes as they widened and darted away.

"Honestly, Daisy, you set yourself up for that one. She obviously needs more time with you, Rivaini. Rivaini?" Varric's chuckling stopped when he realized something was wrong.

Isabela's dead silence hit the table like a sapper's missile. She'd set her mug down, freeing both hands for weapons. Without truly moving she'd clenched every muscle in her body, coiled to spring. Varric followed the dagger glare of her eyes to the bar, realizing his oversight.

"He's with the Inquisition, 'Bela. He's a friend." The dwarf gently explained, trying to ease reason into the swirling hate that was already seething out of the pirate.

"Aren't they all? Until they decide you aren't living up to your potential, of course. Then they just want to fry your brain because they're so bloody helpful." Isabela growled, not taking her eyes off her enemy.

Varric cursed under his breath. Iron Bull almost never roused his massiveness from that bench behind the stairs, he'd all but worn in butt grooves. It had been a calculated risk, bringing the sailor into the tavern, knowing her history with Qunari. Why did it have to be today that Bull decided to fetch his own damn refill? The barmaids were all too eager to fuss and spoil him and even if they weren't available he just had to grunt at one of his Chargers. Ancestor's asses, he had bad timing.

Bull must have felt the hate radiating towards him. With deliberate slowness he turned from the bar, scanning the room before seeing the party at Varric's table. He glanced over the two giggling elves but locked onto Isabela. Varric would swear he heard the singing whistle of blades slicing air. It was impossible for two people who'd never met to have so much history with each other.

"He's Tal-Vashoth. A good guy," Varric tried to penetrate Isabela's thoughts once more. Her hands were perfectly still, an instinctive calm that always took over her reflexes right before she launched into a battle, "Don't be stupid, Rivaini. He's got his own army!"

"So did the Arishok." Isabela shot back. The bitter words were biting, laden with an anger that can only grow out of festered pain. It told Varric all he needed to know.

In the sound of her voice the dwarf felt himself fall back in time, hearing her infuriated shouts as Hawke fought the leader of the Qunari in Kirkwall. It had taken Aveline and Fenris combined to hold the cursing pirate back. In the flaming storm of her eyes Varric could tell Isabela wasn't in Skyhold anymore. She wasn't seeing Iron Bull or the tavern or allies all around. Everything had melted away and they were in the Viscount's Keep, sheer horror silencing the entire crowd when the Arishok's sword plunged into Hawke and lifted her off the ground. The fact that Hawke survived; that she won, killed the Arishok and saved all of Kirkwall? None of it mattered. Isabela might as well have taken that stab wound herself. Varric knew she would've preferred such physical pain to the writhing guilt and fear that twisted her inside out.

There was too much in this moment that mirrored the past. Hawke was in danger and Isabela was helpless. The world had spun beyond her control and all the woman really wanted was an enemy; a target for all the frustrated rage that she used to smother fear. Bull was just the right shape. Varric tried to attract the massive warrior's attention, to find some way of conveying that he needed to leave. It was useless. Not only was the Qunari not backing down or leaving, he was slowly approaching.

"Kost, asaaranda." Bull's rumbling greeting was directed exclusively at Isabela.

"Eat a sword and shit yourself to death." The pirate growled. Had she actually understood the Qunari spoken to her? Or would that have been her answer regardless?

"Aren't you a powder keg?" Bull snorted but began to smile, "You must be Varric's Rivaini friend. Captain Isabela?"

"She's not at her most socially charming right now. If she tries to slit your throat it won't be anything personal." The dwarf warned, wondering what suicidal impulse had brought the Qunari over if he knew who she was. Did he really have orders to find out about her like he'd joked? He couldn't. He wasn't even Ben-Hassrath anymore. Unless he'd lied about that. That was what spies did, wasn't it?

"Well, that would make a good story. But I think she'll like mine better." Bull sat down at the table across from Isabela and – to his credit – didn't even twitch when one of her daggers was suddenly stabbing the wood an inch from his hand.

"Rivaini, play nice. Otherwise I'll put you in timeout with our demon." Varric threatened. Cole would be cringe at the thought of being used as a weapon but no punishment was more torturous than a conversation with the spirit that read minds. It wasn't exactly getting ripped inside out by a Terror but it was damn close.

"What's this all about? You causing trouble again, tough tits?" Sera was finally distracted from Merril by the tension in the air. Her automatic assumption that her comrade was at the root of the problem was only logical since they usually took turns.

"I just wanted to give the captain a message. I might have sent it through Varric if he hadn't been such a little hard ass about you," Bull explained, shooting an annoyed glance at the dwarf but still focused on Isabela, "I went through Qunari reeducation. My Tamassran was Rasaan."

The name was like a lightning charge coursing through the pirate's body, shooting her to her feet. Her hand hadn't left the dagger in the tabletop and now she ripped it loose, the blade poised in threat.

"If you're expecting me to feel sorry for you . . ." the sailor's distaste finished with a bitter laugh. Varric had to force his mind back, to find the memory of their travels with Alistair and the horrific interlude after the Qunari dreadnought took Isabela's ship. He didn't know what the pirate had been forced to go through, she'd never shared. It was the size and depth of her silence that told him the tortures she'd survived.

"No. I just wanted to meet the woman that could give that qalaba bitch what she deserved," Bull grinned, "You are definitely basalit-an."

Isabela's weapon wavered slightly in the air, surprise making way through the anger devouring her gut. The phrase was near magic. It had been the indicting pronouncement that condemned Hawke to battle and Isabela her agony on the sidelines. Hearing it applied to herself the pirate straightened, drawing herself up. How might history have been rewritten if Hawke hadn't been the one to fight the duel? If Isabela had fought for her own freedom? More importantly, if she'd managed to survive; would the outcome have been the same?

"I wouldn't be as good at it as Hawke." She finally decided, sheathing her dagger. Kirkwall had needed a champion. And – though it had taken years for her to accept – so had she.

"Aban aqun. Panahedan, aban-ataashe." Bull acknowledged the truth of her verdict before rising.

"So Rasaan is still talking about me?" Isabela inquired just before the Qunari had completely turned away.

"She is." He nodded, gamely waiting for the pirate's concluding opinion.

"She should've tried to get in my pants instead of my head – she'd have better stories." The Rivaini decided, nodding a silent salute to the warrior.

"I'm pretty sure she thinks the same." Bull grinned and headed back to his own corner of the tavern.

"What was that all about then?" Sera demanded as Isabela sank back into her seat.

The sailor didn't reply immediately, grabbing her mug and swallowing away the taste of memories. Varric knew he could step in and explain the history. He could weave a brilliant tale with threads in gold for Isabela, crimson for Qunari and charcoal for their terrible adventures. That would be for his next novel, however; now was the time to be silent out of respect for a friend.

"During a massive storm off Rivain's northern coast our ship came across an Antivan warship, just as close to sinking as ours," Isabela began an apparently unrelated reminiscence, "We lashed the ships together, the only way to withstand the size of the waves. Come the third day the storm finally passed and both ships survived. On top of that, come to find more than a dozen of my crew had found their way into the bunks of the female soldiers."

"Good job them – best of a bad situation! Hope they remembered to steal some knickers." Sera cheered.

"What's your point, Rivaini?" Varric prodded the pensive rogue, knowing she couldn't find all her answers in the pools of her whiskey cup.

"Crises make strange bedfellows. Your goat friend isn't what I'd choose but whatever gets the job done. You, on the other hand," Isabela turned her attention to Sera with a growing smile, "Are just the sort of woman I like."

The elf could swear like a sailor, drink like a fish and laugh like a mentally deranged hyena. Isabela leaned over to top up the elf's mug, pleased to have found a kindred spirit in such a remote location. Sera accepted the refill, raising it in a toast of appreciation.

"Good on you. Means you got good taste," the blonde took a long swallow before her eyes slid back to Merrill, "Let's hope your friend does too."

* * *

><p><em>All reviews and responses are appreciated. Feedback keeps me focused and the story moving.<em>

_Qunlat translations:_

_Kost - Peace_

_Asaaranda - thunderstorm_

_Qalaba - a Qunari cow breed known for stupidity_

_Basalit-an - a non Qunari worthy of respect_

_Aban aqun - the sea is changeless_

_Panahedan - goodbye (literally Take refuge in safety)_

_Aban-ataashe - Sea dragon_


	5. Party Planning

Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast (there had been three additional names but she'd managed to drop them after her parents died) stood watching the council of the Inquisition debate. She seldom attended the war table meetings for this very reason. Once decisions had been made – as they had now – all that was left was politics. Even on good days she could barely force herself to care, let alone pay attention to the ricocheting games and today was definitely not a good day.

The Seeker prided herself on many things; honor, duty, prowess, discipline and the ability to dismember an ogre in less than a minute. Ordinarily, she would consider objectivity to be on that list. No one could be a Seeker without learning to discern facts from feelings, impartially evaluating both conduct and character. In the days when she'd loathed mages with a scorn others reserved for demons and darkspawn, she still would've died defending the Circles because it was her mission.

Right now, however, she could not find that sense of duty-driven reason. All she could feel was a seething animosity that curled her fists and stalled her thoughts.

Cassandra Pentaghast knew anger. She knew its many flavors and forms, the color of it behind her eyes and the degrees of heat from within. There was the irritated anger that clenched between her shoulders when she was attacked or insulted. A stronger hate wrapped around her chest and lungs like a massive fist when one of her allies was in danger. A fury almost painfully hot burned from her belly clear to her fingertips if she heard of an assault on ideals, on the Chantry before or the Inquisition now. The worst, however, was the paralyzing rage of failure. It ate through her bone and sinew and scorched every inch of her skin, nearly maddening in its tortures and she didn't dare to move when in the grip of such wrath.

This anger was different. Cassandra clenched and flexed her fists, wishing to be on the training field with a weapon to work out this alien sensation. Her rage had always given her power, it had been a tool for focusing her mind and she'd harnessed it for battle a thousand times. This new feeling gnawing behind her eyes and prickling over her skin with white hot needles was shattering her ability to concentrate. It washed backed and forth in her blood, ire rising to the point she might finally catch hold of it and bend it into a weapon but suddenly slipping away, defying her attempts at identifying or understanding the surges of emotion.

Something or someone was under attack. That much she could clearly understand. The hair on the back of her neck told her there was danger. But from whom and towards what? _The rebel Wardens? The Deep Roads? The Nightmare?_ None of the potential threats sped her heart or spiked through her blood. Cassandra groaned inwardly; if she couldn't find the root cause she couldn't fight the danger. An enemy had to be visible!

"You think you're suffering? I go through this every time the council meets." Eve leaned toward the Seeker, mistaking her frustration.

The Inquisitor herself looked none too thrilled with the current round of debate but had learned to accept the ordeal. Cassandra regarded her patient friend, feeling the anger loosen its grip. Trevelyan had a remarkable ability to accept circumstances and adapt to any situation no matter how bizarre. From the time they'd first met in Haven's prison, Cassandra had been struck by the woman's tolerance of her world being turned upside down, inside out and every other impossible shape. She had no interest in blame, doubt, regret or worry; she simply wanted to act. The Seeker liked that.

"What are they even arguing about?" She inquired, watching as the feather of Josephine's stylus fluttered animatedly in the air.

"Several things; how we'll convince the dwarves to let us into the Deep Roads, what to do about Weisshaupt and how in Maker's name to deal with Isabela." Eve enumerated the issues still under debate. That the Inquisition would save Hawke was not in question. That Weisshaupt needed help was obvious. That none of them were willing to leave either task solely up to Isabela was unanimous.

The pirate's name sent a sharp flare along Cassandra's spine and up her cheeks. Her jaw clenched unconsciously on unknown words. _Trouble. _She finally caught hold of the evasive thought beneath her unrest. The Rivaini sailor was definitely a problem. The abrupt spike of temper caught Eve's attention and she turned to focus on the other warrior. She didn't need to ask, an arched brow over her concerned gaze was inquiry enough.

"I would had preferred we had better information and from a more trustworthy source." Cassandra quickly explained. She might not have played Orlais' Great Game but she'd been raised nobility; she knew she couldn't simply say 'I do not like that woman.' Not yet, anyway.

"Funny, isn't it?" Eve nodded agreement, "I can barely take a report seriously anymore unless it's spattered either with blood or bird shit."

The statement was offered in a solemn tone, too serious to actually be serious. Cassandra caught the hitch in her friend's breathing that would have been an ironic chuckle.

"I dare say the pirate has rolled in worse." The Seeker found her irritation ebbing once again, even smiling as she listened to the Inquisitor's immediate laugh. The sound distracted the arguing council and three pairs of eyes turned to the two warriors.

"Sorry," Eve didn't look apologetic, "But as long as you're all quiet, how about this? Send someone to collect Isabela before she gets drunk enough to cause trouble. You'll have as long as it takes for them to drag her out of the tavern to figure out what we're going to do."

The suggestion was clearly not optional. The advisors didn't look thrilled with the idea but also knew that left alone they could continue debating until the Black City turned to ash. The Inquisitor continuously proved herself by stepping in to make decisions when none were forthcoming. She had displayed that innate ability from early on and it was remarkable that eventually everyone fell into line. Self-assurance married to reason._ A natural leader._ Cassandra - who had either served or led all her life - knew such a person was truly rare.

"They dislike what you do," the Seeker observed quietly to Eve as the council fell to rapid strategizing, "But they love you for doing it."

"That's an improvement. Everyone used to dislike what I did _and_ who I was," The Inquisitor smirked, mind clearly back in their early days together when people had been suspicious of the so-called Herald of Andraste and all she represented, "Of course, before that I was insanely popular but also a useless twat, so progress all around."

"I cannot imagine that." Cassandra shook her head, trying her best to resist the humor. It did not seem an appropriate time to be laughing, although with Trevelyan it was inevitable.

"Me being popular? I assure you I was, really. I was liked in the alienage, respected by nobility, admired in the taverns and an absolute favorite in the br-brawling ring." Eve's stutter was so brief the Seeker might have missed it if not for the hint of flush that accompanied the near-mistake. It didn't take a tremendous leap of creativity to know what the woman had almost said.

"I imagine you were," Cassandra's amusement teased into her words, "But all that 'popularity' rather undermines your claim of being useless. It sounds like you were quite busy."

"Busy isn't the same as useful. It was just a matter of filling hours." Eve shrugged, casually dismissing her past yet there was a hint of apology beneath the indifference.

_And filling your bed._ The Seeker was oddly surprised to find the conclusion didn't bother her at all. She knew more of Evelyn Trevelyan's past and reputation than the Inquisitor might like. Leliana had gathered information from every corner of her network as soon as the stranger had walked out of the breach. None of it had offered much promise for their would-be savior. Neither had it prepared them for the hero she proved to be.

"Between you and that woman in Ostwick lie the ravages of the Conclave and Corypheus. I cannot imagine you bear her resemblance in anything other than name." Cassandra was fully convinced of her own conclusion. The gentle warmth of the assertion brought out one of Eve's rare, honest smiles; the kind that was open and grateful and showed more depth than delight. The Seeker's subtle absolution had obviously been enough to wash away any qualms.

The silent communication between them lingered, growing heavy until Cassandra looked away, uncomfortable with the unspoken questions that piled up at such times. Did they come from Eve's eyes or behind her own? Turning her attention back to the war table the Seeker caught Leliana's gaze on her. On both of them actually; but it was brief before darting away. The spymaster had been doing that more of late, studying the two warriors. Cassandra had noticed her watching a few times and tried to divine the motive that lay behind such attention. On a few occasions there had been a smile accompanying Leliana's observation, as if she were privy to some secret about their conversations. It made Cassandra suspicious. Not enough to dissuade her from talking to the Inquisitor, of course. Given enough time she'd figure out what the redheaded bard thought she knew.

* * *

><p>The council hadn't deliberated so long that Isabela got drunk enough to cause trouble. She had however, relaxed back into a state of seductive mischief. This was proven when she sauntered into the war room and hoisted herself to sit on the map table, legs crossed and leaning back on one arm in a pose of obvious display. <em>Cassandra is going to kill her.<em> Leliana subtly shook her head, wondering how long it would take for the already aggravated warrior to completely break.

"'Bout time you wanted me." Her predatory smile roved over the assembled advisors; embarrassing Cullen, annoying Cassandra, amusing Leliana and flustering Josephine. Her gaze landed on the Inquisitor and that was where it stayed. Her interest in Trevelyan was obvious. _Does she recognize prey? Or a fellow hunter?_

_Or does she simply enjoy the response?_ Leliana couldn't help noticing that the Seeker beside Eve was holding as still as is possible only when every muscle in your body is clenched tight. If she were any more tensed she would pull herself inside out. Knowing Isabela, the pirate was enjoying playing with two people at once. Eve, wiser this time, was staying quiet.

"The Inquisition will mount an expedition into the Deep Roads to investigate darkspawn activity and find traces of Corypheus' influence. Orzammar has already been supportive of our efforts and owes us a few favors," Josephine's diplomatic voice did much to cool the rapidly heating air, "This will bypass the need for permits. However this means the Inquisition must also be represented."

"Meaning what, Ruffles?" Varric leaned casually in the doorway. Merrill was with him but somehow made herself seem so small she was nearly invisible.

"Meaning I'm going with her." Eve clarified before anyone else could speak. Everyone's faces contorted in surprise and then moved rapidly to objection.

"We cannot risk losing the leader of the Inquisition in the Deep Roads. Even without the rebel Wardens there are limitless dangers and without you all our work could be compromised," Cullen was the first to argue, "We can send a whole blighted army with her if we need to but not the one person we can't replace."

"Send an army marching into the Deep Roads and Orzammar will know there is trouble." Josephine shook her head. Negotiating with dwarves was hard enough without giving them reasons for paranoia.

"And dwarves love trouble. They have such creative ways of making it worse." Varric approached now, ready to be part of the planning. The set of his jaw declared that no one was going after Hawke without him.

"Not to mention that large a force would attract the attention of the darkspawn and bring a massive response. A smaller party has a better chance of slipping in undetected," Leliana agreed, "I've been in the Deep Roads before, as has Varric; we're the best choices for this task."

"What? You refused to join my party all this time because you said you'd be blind without your network of spies!" Eve objected, warring between surprise and insult. Leliana recalled the disappointment in the Herald's eyes when she'd explained why she couldn't join her in the field. This was different. _For many reasons._

"I have no agents underground. The Deep Roads are a blank to everyone except those who have traveled there before. My people are only your eyes above ground. Underneath? It must be my own." The bard reasoned with a calm she didn't feel. Keeping secrets was her job, her skill, her entire purpose anymore. Yet keeping them from her allies here, the people who had become her friends . . . It felt wrong but it would be worse to speak too soon. She had to get into the Deep Roads and find the Wardens. She had to find out if the gnawing worry growing beneath her thoughts was true. Right or wrong, she _would_ tell them. Once she was sure.

"Fine," Eve accepted, inclined to argue further but aware it would be fruitless, "But you go with me, not in my place."

"Inquisitor!" Cullen and Josephine both protested. Isabela rolled her eyes and slid off the war table, approaching Eve.

"Relax, you lot. She looks capable enough," the Captain's gaze swept her quarry from head to toe before closing in provocatively, "What about it, sweets; eager to explore some Deep Roads? I bet you're just dying to plunge in."

"You forgot to include suggesting I 'come with you.'" Eve teased, unperturbed by the exotic pirate invading her personal space once more. The Inquisitor was more determined to resist the woman's sensual arts but wasn't immune. She was definitely fighting not to enjoy herself too much.

"Well, that just sounds far too intimate," Isabela faked a prudish scowl, badly, "But for you I might stay open to the idea."

"Are we planning a rescue or an orgy?" Cassandra interjected, eyes full of bite. Leliana was grateful for her years of training in playing the Game, otherwise she might not have been able to contain the burst of laughter she felt pressing beneath her ribs. The Seeker's surge of impatient temper had conveniently moved her a few steps closer to the Inquisitor. _Unconsciously, no doubt.  
><em>

"Don't be ridiculous. You need at least eight people for a decent orgy. Any less and everyone gets bored too quickly," Isabela easily answered with a conviction that could only be born of experience, "But once we find Hawke there could be all sorts of options."

"Whore." Cassandra growled. No one's eyes should light up the way Isabela's did at that insult. She looked positively sentimental.

"I have a feeling you and I are going to get on fabulously." the Rivaini grinned, turning her full attention to the disgusted Seeker. The pirate leaned dangerously close to Cassandra. If she'd been foolish enough to raise even a finger to touch her she probably would lose the entire arm. Survival instinct just barely won out over seduction and Isabela wisely kept her hands to herself. Instead she got close enough to drop her voice to a whisper,

"You want to join us, don't you, butch britches? You should. Come with us." Whether the suggestive whisper was deliberately loud or a side effect of the hours of drinking didn't matter, everyone heard the invitation and held their breath. Not even the Inquisitor herself could save Isabela now.

"An excellent idea. Someone will have to keep you from raping all the hurlocks." Cassandra's retort left her companions utterly speechless. In all their years collaborating as Hands of the Divine, Leliana had never once heard the Seeker crack a joke. _Perhaps it's all the time with Eve and Varric?_ It was so unexpected that no one knew how to respond, not until Varric couldn't hold his laughter in anymore.

"You asked for it, Rivaini! She's going to have her boot so far up your ass you'll be spitting steel." The dwarf choked for breath. Isabela's own eyes lit up with equal measures of delight and malice.

"Oh yes, _now_ we have a party." She grinned, winking to Eve before stepping back.

The Inquisitor shot a worried look to Cassandra, unclear as to what had happened or how. Leliana mentally applauded. The Seeker might despise manipulations and games but she had just masterfully inserted herself into the expedition team without even a hint of intent. If that was what she could do on threads of anger and suspicion, what abilities might she discover when she admitted full blown jealousy?

"Can anyone be serious for a moment? We're talking about letting half the leadership of the Inquisition attempt a suicide mission in the Deep Roads!" Cullen barked, clearly not sharing his comrades' amusement or confidence.

"Cullen, we – I owe this to Hawke," Eve implored, appealing to his loyalty as much as reason, "She came out of hiding and put herself at risk to bring us information we needed. She had our backs. You weren't in the Fade. She would have sacrificed herself to that Nightmare for us to get out if Stroud hadn't stopped her."

Varric – who'd been miming 'shut up' as frantically as possible – groaned at the Inquisitor's argument. He began easing back from the group but not quickly enough. Isabela's widening eyes suddenly narrowed and her hand caught the dwarf's collar, jerking him close.

"Varric, my manly short mast, why am I just now hearing about this?" the pirate's tone was like the worst kinds of alcohol: sugar sweet but laced with bite, full of the promise of pain. Tethras tried to wrestle from her grip but the knuckles of her hand had gone white, belying her stature of easy calm. He gave up trying to fight free and surrendered to every narrator's worst enemy: facts.

"Because I figured this was how you'd react! C'mon, Rivaini," Varric argued with a roll of his eyes, "Hawke's a wanton, mercenary prankster with a tongue blessed by sweet Andraste herself but we know, _you know_ she simply can't stop being heroic!"

"No," Isabela agreed with an irritated sigh, letting go of her friend, "It's like a drug for her. Why can't she just get off on sex like a good girl?"

If the obligation of Eve's speech didn't persuade Cullen, the resigned loyalty in Isabela and Varric's conversation did. Without any further argument the advisors began assembling lists of needed supplies. True heroes were rare, even in the age of dragons. Who could protect them but each other?

* * *

><p><em>Feedback on characterization, predictions on plot development, suggestions for correction are all welcome. Reviews keep the writing focused so thank you.<em>


	6. Setting Out

Once the decision had been made to mount the rescue expedition it was difficult to explain to Isabela that they couldn't up and leave that very afternoon. Reasons included having to gather supplies, inform the rest of the companions, organize transportation, issue instructions for the Inquisitor's absence and for Maker's sake get the Rivaini captain sober before putting her on a horse. It was a difficult argument since Cassandra and Eve were also both prone to impulsively shooting off half-cocked and planning later. Fortunately, Leliana's was a cooler disposition and she had experience restraining her allies.

Isabela had been forced to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening helping with the more tedious aspects that prelude adventure. Gathering, sorting, packing, sharpening, stealing, getting caught, more packing. Dark had fallen by the time she and Merrill were escorted to bed chambers.

"Remember, Kitten, this is the last night we'll get a proper bed. Bolt the door and latch the window, your admirer was rather acrobatic." Isabela teased as they went to their separate rooms. Merrill considered the advice.

"But would that be to keep her out or keep her in?" the elf questioned in confusion. The captain thought her ribs might actually burst with pride at the speed with which her ingénue found the innuendo.

"Whichever lets you have a good night." Isabela smiled and entered her room.

Only when the door closed behind her did the enormity of the mess begin to descend. She'd been a day behind Hawke at Orzammar. Then another day's delay getting Merrill; blessed Andraste's breasts, it was a good thing that the minute she got into Nevarra she sent orders for her crew to sail to Kirkwall. A third day lost getting to Skyhold and tomorrow would make four. Four days Hawke had ahead of her. Four days in the Deep Roads. For weeks after the Fereldan returned from Bartrand's expedition she bolted upright in the middle of the night, cold sweat soaking through the sheets and screaming warnings to her sister.

Throwing herself onto the bed Isabela stared at the ceiling, discomfited by the inertia of the room. Where was the soothing movement of waves to rock in like a cradle? Why couldn't the light fixture swing subtly on the far wall and give her eyes something distracting to watch so as not to be stuck in her own thoughts?

Nothing could kill Hawke. Isabela had determined that by watching the woman's suicidal battle antics and few of their own more spirited fights._ Balls, after that run in with Castillion! _She could be injured, maimed, scorched, poisoned, scarred and on one memorable occasion rendered unconscious for three days. But killed? Not by any force in this world or apparently the one beyond. _Not that she wouldn't have tried with that bloody Nightmare._

Clearly, Isabela didn't have to worry about Hawke dying in the Deep Roads. But if anything happened to Bethany? If she got there too late to save her sister . . ._Hawke could be destroyed. _It was a near enough thing after losing her mother. Saving Hawke now wasn't just a matter of finding her; it was a matter of finding them both. Finding them in time.

Isabela climbed to her feet, hating the alien surroundings and uncomfortable thoughts. There were two ways she never went to bed: sober or alone. If she was stuck being one she damned sure wasn't going to be the other. Varric, knowing his longtime friend, had promised she could find a surprise in the wash basin cabinet and she went to rummage now. She sighed a grateful oath of thanks when her fingers grazed a bottle on the lower shelf. Pulling it out she found a note tied around the neck.

_Rivaini, Not all time on land is shore leave. You've got the best help in Thedas. We'll find her. Keep your wits and don't run._

Isabela frowned, reading the scrawled advice. _Preachy little pisspot._ She pulled the cork from the wine. She'd earned a good night's sleep. The bed looked comfortable enough but for it to be perfect she'd need that mellow warmth that could only come from without or within. The first swig of wine was sickly sweet but promised to heat her to the bone. _Don't run. Right. I've been running for days._ She'd only stopped to rest in the same places where Hawke had paused, closing her eyes for the fewest minutes possible to recharge and be back on her feet. She was good at running. _Plenty of practice._ By the second taste of wine the sweetness was like syrup and she could feel the bite underneath. It left a sour aftertaste.

_Of course, usually I'm trying to get away. Not catch up._ _That part's different. _She lifted the bottle for a third drink but stopped. When had she ever chased anything other than gold or revenge? Sure, there were all kinds of 'booty' but jumping into the Deep Roads for a piece of ass? Isabela was a master of deception and she knew a lie before it ever reached her tongue. This was all new territory for her; geographically, strategically and – most worrisome - emotionally. Maybe Varric wasn't wrong . . .

_Damn you, Hawke. I'll make you pay for this._ She scowled and fiercely jammed the cork back into the bottle. For the first time in as many years as she could remember, Isabela's head hit the pillow painfully sober.

* * *

><p>Dawn light fractured in the mist above the courtyard of Skyhold, illuminating twelve saddled and loaded Orelsian Coursers ready for the journey. The riders were not quite so coordinated. Dorian was still complaining of sleeping terribly due to <em>someone<em> snoring like an asthmatic wyvern. Iron Bull's muttered reply was something about frozen bed sheets and catching cold. Vivienne had taken one look at Isabela and arched her eyebrow so high it looked permanently lodged at the top of her skull. Eve could practically hear the woman's sphincter puckering itself inside out.

Merrill was happily feeding carrots to her horse under Blackwall's watchful gaze. Sera also watched but from a distance, slumped in her saddle after Varric dragged her out of bed and flung her onto a horse. The dwarf himself was pink and primed; Bianca sported fresh upgrades, polished wood and a new set of even deadlier-looking arrows. Cole always tended to linger on the outskirts of their grouping, keeping himself slightly apart. Eve hadn't figured out if that was because the noise of so many loud and opinionated thoughts overwhelmed him or if he simply didn't feel himself to be one of their company.

This morning his diffidence hadn't protected him from Isabela's notice. She might have missed the retiring boy hiding beneath his oversized hat but she was bound to notice his weapons. The twin Bloodied Wing daggers had cost a fortune but were worth every copper the minute he'd wielded them in battle. He and Isabela were now comparing grips and throwing technique and Eve wandered over to listen in to their conversation.

"Left handed grip on both sides? Bit odd, isn't it?" the sailor examined Cole's blades.

"But I'm left handed." The spirit pointed out, trying to keep up with the attention at the same time as the swirling noise of everyone around him. The poor boy's eyes couldn't stay focused on any one thing no matter how he tried. A few seconds concentrating on Isabela or his weapons but then his head would shake or swivel, finding thoughts he couldn't identify, trying to eliminate the distractions.

"You fight with both hands, don't you? Right and left? Why have two left handled grips?" Isabela pressed again. Daggers that perfect were meant for precision and skill; she was clearly thinking of taking them off the boy, either by theft or a highly suspect card game. Eve smiled, folding her arms in anticipation of Cole's response.

"For this." The blonde rogue took both daggers into a single hand and flung them, deadly accurate precision hitting the throat and chest of a dummy 50 yards away. The hapless mannequin rocked from the force. Cole had barely even looked at it.

"Please tell me he's coming with us." Isabela turned her impressed gaze to the Inquisitor. Cole looked to her as well, a puzzled question in his eyes. Eve just smiled and nodded to him, confirming that he'd handled the situation well. Satisfied, the boy trotted off to fetch his weapons.

"He's going with Blackwall and the others to Weisshaupt. He's incredibly gifted and useful but I don't know how he'd handle the Deep Roads. Cole is . . . different." Eve shook her head. Could he hear the thoughts of darkspawn? Would he be overwhelmed by their hive mind? They still didn't understand enough about him and now without Solas he was far too fragile to risk. Besides, having someone along that could read thoughts when minds like Isabela's were in the party? That would just be cruel to everyone else.

"Looks normal. Smarter than a prison guard and quick enough to kick himself in the ass. What's not right with that?" Isabela argued. She must have met hundreds, maybe thousands of bizarre people in her travels and adventuring; nutcases and savants, rebels and royalty. But she never could have met anyone like Cole. Eve knew exactly how to prove that.

"Cole, remember that chat we had about peoples' privacy?" She asked the blonde when he returned.

"Inside the head stays inside; outside isn't always what's in but shouldn't be turned inside out." Cole nodded, agreeing in his own baffling way. The wide brim of his hat flopped like wings when his head moved.

"Yes. Now, I'm making an exception for Captain Isabela. What do you hear?" The Inquisitor forced every muscle of her face to go still despite the maniacal pull of a wicked grin along her lips. Cole looked intently at the perplexed pirate before closing his eyes, seeing without them.

"Running - don't look, don't see; behind is behind, don't turn, stay ahead. Chasing, jumping, everywhere, nowhere; it doesn't matter, keep moving. Pain. Outrun the pain, more pain, take it. More, harder, faster, just right. You, yes; plus one or three. Then one. Just one. Choose the pain and it can't hurt you –,"

"That should be enough." Eve interrupted when she saw Isabela's smug expression vanish into shock. Cole blinked and brought his eyes up to the sailor's, a sense of recognition there that only came from stripping another's soul. He knew her now, inside and out. He could do that with anyone. The problem was that he still didn't understand any of it. With a nod of apology the awkward spirit moved away.

"Right. Good decision," Isabela finally concluded, shifting back into her easy confidence like nothing had happened, "But if he's really that good a mind reader then I've got first dibs once he discovers sex."

From halfway across the courtyard both women saw Cole suddenly pause and look back at them. At this distance they couldn't see his face but Eve found herself wondering if spirits could blush.

* * *

><p>The winding road through the Frostback mountains had been widened and secured by the Inquisition. It had been trampled hard and smooth by the thousands of feet of refugees, soldiers and pilgrims. Descending from the rising peaks, Eve listened to the noise of horses' hoof beats and breathing echo off the high rock. It took concentration since most of what could be heard were the voices of her eleven fellow travelers. There was robustness in their voices, an excited energy that always gripped them once they had a mission. No matter how ominous their purpose it was a chance to get out of Skyhold and hit things or stick them full of little arrows.<p>

Interested in the overall state of her small army, Eve casually guided her horse ahead from the rear. She rode steadily along the procession, ears trained to pick up each passing conversation. Cassandra and Varric were arguing about his description of Isabela in the Champion of Kirkwall book. Apparently the word 'lecherous' hadn't appeared even once and while she agreed that he'd used 'dirty' often enough it was always with more relish than realism. Eve knew better than to get involved.

Merrill was sandwiched between Sera and Cole, each apparently enjoying the elven mage's explanation of how she came to have nine feral cats living in the alley behind her shack in the alienage. Being nice to the rats reverberated up the food chain. She had scratches all over her arms but was happily reciting the names she'd given each animal. There was Mamae who'd birthed a litter and lost all but three, Vandal ate her healing herbs if he got inside, Tiddles sprayed anything that held still long enough . . .

The litany fell behind the Inquisitor and then was drowned out by a long and descriptive series of curses rising and falling in volume. Isabela still hated horses. The rogue had seemed uncomfortable all morning and Eve suspected it had something to do with the dangerously alert brightness in her eyes. Blackwall was helpfully offering suggestions on handling the mount or adjusting her riding posture.

"Sweetheart, I've been mounting and riding longer and with far more variety than you could imagine. I should probably be giving _you_ advice." Isabela's teasing had a hint of growl beneath. Eve couldn't make out the man's sputtering reply but soon heard the pirate fall back into her oaths and imprecations.

Dorian and Vivienne were trying to eclipse each other's class in their usual game of passive aggressive snobbery. Eve often thought the two would've been perfect as mates if they didn't both prefer the company of men. Or if they didn't disagree so completely on every principle of applied magic. And maybe if they weren't always trying to be prettier than the other. But they agreed a lot on women's uncomfortable shoes. That was something.

Iron Bull was riding scout which just left Leliana at the head of the line. Eve caught up and easily settled her horse into pace alongside the spymaster. The redhead had been quiet all morning other than to issue orders when needed. For a woman that spent all her time in the company of secrets, Eve would've expected silence to be a more natural fit. Her pensive air was mute, not tranquil.

"I've figured out why you almost never leave the dark of the rookery," the Inquisitor caught her ally's attention, "You don't hide worry half so well in daylight."

"I suppose the isolation has spoiled me. I must sharpen my skills before becoming a public figure." Leliana shook her head, amusement softening the line of her mouth.

"Yes, a Divine needs to be sharp. Or surrounded by sharpness. Can't go wrong with lots of pointy things, can you?" Eve nodded sagely in agreement. There were rumors of clerics with entire arsenals tucked in the folds of their holy robes. It couldn't be coincidence that the Grand Cathedral and the House of Repose were both established in Val Royeaux.

"Very true. I thought I'd ask Varric if his friend couldn't make a modified version of that crossbow for me. Perhaps small enough to fit under the headdress?" The breathy caress of Leliana's Orlesian accent was musical with laughter beneath her words. The woman's voice was positively enchanting.

"A Baby Bianca? Scandalous!" Eve mocked horror at the suggestion and mentally congratulated herself when she finally saw the redhead's full smile, "Finally! You can be more stubborn than Cassandra when you're brooding. Now, are you going to tell me what has you looking even more mysterious today?"

"I am a spymaster away from her spies; a bard on a horse, not a dance floor; an assassin in broad daylight instead of lurking in the shadows of the moon. All of these are suspicious, are they not?" Leliana teased. She and the Inquisitor enjoyed these small games, parrying around questions and answers to see who could lead the dance. Inevitably it would be the redhead that won but Eve's humor kept it close.

"You left out being the Divine in the company of whores." The warrior added helpfully. In fairness, Isabela had merely frequented the brothels, never been employed. But the label seemed stuck to her like a name and she brandished it the same as Lord or Lady.

"You shouldn't speak so harshly of yourself. I think we could suffice with 'promiscuous women?'" Leliana corrected, eyes glittering at Eve's startled laugh.

"Well, yes, fine," The Inquisitor could hardly object, not with her history, "But that sort of leaves out Dorian."

"Ah, yes. He does change things." The bard admitted.

Both women looked over their shoulders for the Vint mage. Bored of arguing with Vivienne he'd dropped further back to chat with Isabela. The dusky-skinned duo were engaged in animated conversation too far to be heard. From their expressions and gestures (plus Blackwall's look of agony) they were likely comparing notes on magic's uses in bed.

"A Divine that keeps company with whores, courtesans, apostates and thieves," Eve tsked, "I might actually start going to the Chantry again."

"I'll be sure to arrange special services for the occasion. Something with lots of references to Andraste's virtuous bosom." The playful spark in her eye was one more reminder that Leliana had her own wicked side.

"You're a darling," Eve grinned with delight, "But your blessed knickers are still clearly in a twist. What's wrong?"

The direct question was both surrender and demand. The spymaster could continue this verbal dance for hours until Eve completely forgot her own questions. Better to admit defeat and strip her defense. The bard's brow knit in pensive silence for some seconds, eyes boring holes into the horizon until finally her clenched lips parted.

"They went to Orzammar." She stated, the fact grim as an announcement of death. Eve waited. Leliana wasn't the sort to be drawn out by badgering or inane questions. She had to sort through which facts to put in which words. It was the habit of a lifetime, expressing truth without actually being honest. The Inquisitor had learned to trust that her advisor, her _friend_, would tell her what she needed to know.

"There are a score of routes into the Deep Roads. Possibly even hundreds when you consider all of Thedas," the bard gradually continued, voice strained with frustration, "But the rebel wardens traveled for days, dragging hostages across unknown terrain and risking exposure in city and sea, all to reach Orzammar."

"That does seem strange. They'd have to have an awfully specific reason." Eve realized, not having spent much time on the details of Isabela's report. She tended to focus on big things: rebellions, enemies, breasts – _Whoops, no_ – kidnappings, etc. But Leliana and Josephine both spoke a language of subtlety, of tiny clues and small hints that were like loose threads: capable of unraveling a tapestry from top to bottom.

"I think they do. There may be more at stake here than a group of rebel wardens and their hostages." The redhead murmured, more to herself than to the Inquisitor. She was turning inward once more, falling into the ponderous meditations of possible dangers and doubts.

"And are you going to share just what else you think is going on?" Eve had a feeling she knew the answer. No other person denied the Inquisitor as often as her spymaster.

"Not yet," Leliana shook her head but the refusal was softened with a note of apology, "When you have seen secrets and lies change the world as often as I, you learn it is often best to wait in silence."

The warrior almost pushed, wanting some clarification or hint but she wisely held her tongue. If Sister Nightingale thought it best not to discuss the matter then nothing could be gained by argument. Frustrating as the dead end conversation turned out to be, Eve decided to reverse her direction for a subject with more promise.

"You and Isabela seem to share a bit of a past," she began, noting the immediate twitch in the other woman's jaw, "Care to tell me how you met? Or should I just ask her?"

"Denerim," Leliana supplied almost before Eve could finish the threat, "We met in Denerim. When I was traveling with the Hero of Fereldan."

"Ah. Lovely. Archdemon on the loose, darkspawn rampaging everywhere, wardens all but wiped out. Perfect time to pause and make new friends." Trevelyan was careful to keep her tone as neutral as possible. It would be far too easy to let her lewd conclusions leap out all at once. Insinuation was far more fun than accusation.

"It worked for Morrigan, didn't it?" Leliana shot back. If the terse and stubborn witch could earn respect and loyalty in their unlikely band of heroes then anything was possible.

"If Morrigan gave you the sort of look Isabela did I would've posted guards round the clock to keep her from kidnapping you through an Eluvian." The Inquisitor could've been deaf and blind and still read Isabela's flirtation. The pirate's gaze had declared that she didn't need to undress the bard with her eyes because she'd memorized the real thing in a better light and sexier position. That was history with an emphasis on Story.

"This is all Solona's fault," Leliana's sigh was a white flag over the battlefield, "She wanted me to learn Isabela's fighting style. It required getting rather . . .familiar."

"There must have been quite the exchange of techniques." Eve wondered, voice breathier than she'd intended.

"It took some time," the bard's head tilted slightly, pleasantly inclined towards the memory, "I'm certain I taught her a few things as well. Solona was pleased with the outcome."

"And you?" Eve cursed the dryness that had suddenly made her voice rasp. The image of Leliana and Isabela together had been vague in her mind but was growing vivid with each passing word out of the teasing redhead's mouth. _She's going to be Divine! Most Holy Everything and Whatever!_

"Me?" Leliana inquired with an innocence so contrived it turned salacious. The aura of holiness slid away, revealing a wicked mischief that must have been constant in her youth. _Rogues have to be quick and flexible. Two rogues . . ._

"Were -," The Inquisitor cursed and cleared her throat, "Were you pleased as well?"

"We all were," the Not-So-Holy-As-She-Pretended giggled then shifted in her saddle to lean closer and whisper, "Repeatedly."

_Two rogues and a mage. _Eve thanked the Maker she was on a horse. Otherwise she'd have a head injury after her legs went weak. As it was, her mount reared when she tugged harshly on the reins to stay upright. Leliana laughed, pulling ahead and speeding up to confer with Iron Bull. She cast one last teasing glance over her shoulder. In that playful look the Inquisitor saw the woman she must have been years before and she cursed every fate and divinity in the universe that they hadn't met then.

* * *

><p><em>Getting the voices of a dozen different characters from two games right is proving challenging. If anyone seems OoC please let me know. As always, reviews continue to be eagerly appreciated.<em>


	7. Competition

Eve Trevelyan had a feeling that the throbbing headache beginning to pulse behind her eyes was a preview of her life for the foreseeable future. She was used to her companions bickering; it was how she knew they were in good spirits. This was something entirely different. There was no humorous teasing, no good natured give-and-take. The argument that she had to hear in stereo was hostile, impatient and showed no signs of slowing.

"To ride four hours past dark serves no purpose! The horses would be worn, half our party abandoned and we still would not have any measurable advantage." Cassandra's voice was laced with biting irritation as though she'd worn out her last reserves of tolerance reasoning with a child.

"We'd be in Orzammar! Isn't that the whole damned point?!" Isabela shot back.

The two women stood on either side of the Inquisitor at the small pond where they'd stopped to water the horses. The daylight sun was cooling and they weren't far from a habitual camp site that often served travelers on the North road. Eve had sent Cole ahead to see if there was enough open ground at the clearing for their company. The entire rest of her allies were all studiously pretending to be unaware of her agonized predicament. No one dared cross Cassandra and none of them knew what to make of Isabela. Not one of them was willing to risk getting caught in between, not even to rescue their leader.

"In the middle of the night! What good will that accomplish other than cost gold for a place to stay? Or did you think the Shaperate were going to be dragged from their beds for our arrival?" Cassandra threw her hands up in frustration. She was right, of course.

"Then we camp on their blighted doorsteps and if they don't wake up early enough have the horses piss on their windows! I don't care. The sooner we're in Orzammar the sooner we get into the Roads!" Isabela crossed her arms. The problem was that the Rivaini was right as well.

Eve remembered her mother telling her many times (generally after a fight with one of her brothers) that two wrongs never made a right. _So what in the Maker's Forsaken Ass-Seat do two rights make? _She pinched the bridge of her nose. _Other than a lot of noise._ From a distance Eve could've sworn she saw Leliana chuckling.

"To arrive in the dwarven capital under cover of night? When the city sleeps and only drunks and criminals could attest to our presence? That is not the way of the Inquisition." The Seeker shook her head in disgust at the very idea of making such an impression.

"She's right," Eve leapt into the space created by Isabela's incensed inhalation, "That would only make suspicion; we want to make a statement. You want the steel doors opened for us as quickly as possible? That requires getting the Shaperate's attention. We camp tonight and depart before dawn. We ride with full colors into Orzammar after the city has awakened and every inhabitant can be made aware of our arrival. They'll push us through just to prevent gossip."

The Rivaini captain's glare turned to the Inquisitor. Had her mouth not been so perfect and lovely Eve would've sworn it was contorted into a grimace. The snapping hatred in her eyes vanished as they squinted closed; a few deep breaths releasing a whispered litany of blasphemy and complaint before finally the sailor calmed.

"Fine. You're right," she scowled on the words like they were poison before turning and stalking away, "Bloody heroes, always having to be right. If I had a copper for every time Hawke . . ."

The rant faded into the distance and Eve felt the pressure behind her eyes begin to release. Turning back to Cassandra she found the Seeker also regaining her composure. Her jaw was twitching on harsh, unspoken words but as she focused on her companion the anger twisting her brow relaxed. Still choking on the remnants of the argument and its bile, the raven haired warrior simply nodded her thanks and pulled her mount away.

"You got lucky, you know." Varric was the first to approach the Inquisitor once she was alone again.

"I don't know what your sex is like, Varric, but I guarantee mine's better than that." Eve shook her head, smirking at the dwarf and enjoying the rumble of his chuckle. He and Bull both had a soft growl when they were amused; she imagined it was like a contented dragon's purr.

"I mean, it was lucky for you that Seeker was right. This time. One of these days Rivaini is going to be the one with the best reason. What are you going to do then?" Tethras' eyebrow rose in challenge. He gave small indications from time to time that he knew more than he let on. More than Eve might want others to understand.

She read the unspoken message in his words: was she willing to accept scorn from the woman she admired if it was the right thing to do? She thought of that glare of hatred turned on herself, the line of Cassandra's mouth curling to a snarl that would make the scar on her cheek livid. She'd seen the Seeker's disdain painted vividly across her face when they first met, contempt emphasizing the nobility of her bearing. It was unlike anything Eve Trevelyan had ever seen before. _Terrifying and hypnotic. An ocean storm, an avalanche; beautiful and deadly and what a way to die . . _. The skipping beat of her heartrate was clearly an answer for herself. Not, however, one to be shared.

"I think that I read your book, listened to your stories and asked Hawke a lot of questions. I can't imagine that Captain Isabela has ever in her life known an ounce of reason." The glib response deftly allowed her to sidestep the issue completely and was rewarded with Varric's laugh.

"Very true, Inquistor. But be ready, Rivaini is full of surprises." He advised, satisfied with her wit if not her honesty.

Before he could pry further into the Inquisitorial Head, (and its thoughts vis-à-vis pirates and Seekers) a sound that was the absence of sound caught their ears. Both looked up to see Cole approaching. The stillness he wrapped around himself had been perpetual at first, a defense technique to prevent anyone noticing him. Lately though, as he'd grown comfortable in others' eyes and memories, he only resorted to the aura of nonexistence when there was danger.

"Cole?" Eve ran to his horse, quickly looking him over for any sign of injury. How did a spirit show they were hurt? She had yet to see him ever bleed or bruise.

"Scared, trapped, what's going to happen? Wanted to see the city that touches the sky, tower reaching like a hand to the Maker. Jordy will be waiting; I'll never see him now. Cart full of skins lost, profit gone, never should've joined the pilgrims," Cole's head swayed as the waves of thought sloshed back and forth in his mind, "Captured. They're captured."

"Where, Kid?" Varric was already drawing Bianca, ready for battle. Cassandra and Leliana had likewise noticed the scout's distress and hurried over.

"Camp. Bandit outpost. Easy prey; slow and fat traders, skinny refugees, terrified pilgrims. No patrols for days," The blonde spirit shook his head, pushing away the sound of the criminal minds, "They took over the camp site. Travelers are trapped before they even know. Captured, caught in cages, cursing, calling, crying."

"Alright, Cole. We'll get them out," The Inquisitor promised before looking around, "That ridge crests above the camp. Let's go see what we're dealing with."

Cassandra, Leliana and Varric all instinctively followed Trevelyan. They set off up the hillside, threading carefully through the dense brush and clambering large boulders. The peak of the ridge held a patchwork of old trees and young saplings. Eve slipped between the trunks and lay on her belly, peaking over the grove of tents. Men milled around cargo and cages, gloating over their spoils.

"I count three guarding the captives." Cassandra murmured, voice startlingly close. Eve hadn't even noticed the woman slide down beside her.

"Three more opening crates and sorting their take," Eve agreed, "Four patrolling the edge of the camp."

"At least two in the large tent; certainly the leader, maybe a mage as well." Leliana didn't have to lay in the dirt, she'd quietly crept onto the bough of a massive oak tree. Her voice arrived quiet as the leaves rustled by her breath.

"And then the three lazy bastards sharpening weapons by the fire." Varric spotted the last of the bandit crew. It wasn't the largest group of outlaws they'd ever taken on but they were well positioned for defense and there were helpless innocents in the middle.

"Two of the guards look like runners. There must be a few other enclaves in the area for backup." Eve frowned.

Wiping out the bandits wasn't hard. Doing it quickly wouldn't be a problem either. But being fast and thorough _and_ not letting any captives get hurt? Her eyes roved the cages. There was a Chantry lay sister, a scowling merchant, an elven girl shaking with quiet sobs; the two young men with frightened eyes must've been hired by the merchant and the child – who brings a child out here? – looked like she belonged to the elf. None of them looked capable of protecting themselves, let alone each other.

"Are you all seriously puckering your smalls over a dozen thugs?" Isabela announced her presence with the disgusted question. She must have noticed the leaders of their expedition missing and followed. And, since where the captain went Merrill went, the elf stood beside her.

"Quiet down!" Cassandra hissed as she rose to her feet, "These hills echo. You'll arouse the whole band."

"I could do that without a word, sourpuss." The flippant sailor retorted. Eve imagined she could hear the simmer of Cassandra's temper in the creaking of her fisted gloves. She'd never known anyone – not even Varric – to get under the Seeker's skin so rapidly.

"Tossing you down the hill naked might serve as a useful diversion." Cassandra admitted thoughtfully. Diverting for the bandits or for herself she didn't specify. The malevolence in her gaze hinted at the answer.

"A distraction would be good. Get the men in the camp focused while the perimeter guards are picked off." Varric was careful to neither endorse nor oppose the Seeker's suggestion, despite Isabela's fist thumping him in the back of the head.

"You're all getting twisted up over fifteen sorry sack-suckers? Merrill and I could take care of that lot by ourselves. Twice that if we had Hawke." Isabela had a way of leaning back when issuing challenges, as though there were a tavern bar counter perpetually present to support her languid arrogance.

"Oh, it would take three of you, would it? The Iron Bull could take out that many alone." The Seeker wasn't just skeptical, she was mocking.

"But we'd come out unscathed. He's already lost an eye, wouldn't want to risk the other would you?" The pirate straightened off her invisible bar and took a step closer to her opponent, voice slowly getting louder.

"One eye _and_ with a hand tied behind his back he'd still be quicker than you. You'd probably get distracted halfway and start picking pockets instead of stabbing." Cassandra scoffed, instinctively matching her volume. Eve got to her feet, trying to hush the women but she was being completely ignored.

"I could do both. Just because you don't know how to do a man two ways at once. . ." Isabela let the taunt hang in the air. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her voice was the _only_ sound in the air. The Inquisitor caught Leliana's worried eye. The bard had noticed the same silence. The birds had all gone quiet, frightened by the noise below them. Eve looked up into the trees. If they got any louder the birds would take off, a dead giveaway to the bandits beyond.

"With your reputation? It's a miracle you stop yourself at two." Cassandra's eyes rolled heavenward before resuming a superior glare. The fiendish gleam in Isabela's eye promised a retort was right on her lips. Enough was enough.

"Would you two either just whip out your tits and measure or bloody shut up?!" Eve broke between them, pushing the two women apart. Varric had a spontaneous fit of coughing when surprise and laughter met from opposite directions in his throat

"I beg your pardon?" Cassandra turned with the full intensity of her Nevarran Princess/Dragon Slayer/Ice Queen breeding. Eve grimaced internally but apologies would have to wait until later, noise from the camp below told her the outlaws were going on alert.

"Time the captain proves her talent," The Inquisitor clearly saw a dirty comment forming in Isabela's eyes and pressed on quickly, "She and I will go straight into the camp as a distraction. Cassandra, you and Merrill come in from the flanks. Take out the runners first and once they're down head for the cages. We'll clean up everyone else."

"So forceful. I like it." The Rivaini murmured her approval.

"Varric, go tell the others. They can approach as far as the southern forest line but have them hold there." Leliana added to the instructions. The dwarf nodded, scrambling back down the rock ridge while Cassandra and Merrill also disappeared into the thicket.

Eve and Isabela clambered and slid down to the main road, pausing out of the view of the camp to give their companions a head start. The Inquisitor mentally counted seconds. Two to three minutes was all the time the Seeker would need to gain an advantage.

"What do you say we make this interesting?" The captain's inquiry was casual. So casual that the Inquisitor knew she had something either dangerous or indulgent in mind.

"I'm listening." Eve allowed, wondering which inappropriate suggestion she was about to make. That she was already excited was probably a bad sign.

"You want me to prove my talent. How about a 'show me yours, I'll show you mine' arrangement?" Isabela had to know she was gathering up the strings of the frustrated Inquisitor's hormones and winding them around her finger. The husk in her voice and forward tilt of her body was too deliberate to be anything other than a game.

"I doubt now is the right time." Eve leaned past the boulder shielding them from view. The bandits had settled back down, satisfied any forest noises were random predators.

"No, sweetcheeks, it'll be perfect. Fifteen of those blighters, right? What say we have a little friendly competition?" Isabela had a way of turning 'friendly' into a dagger's edge.

The warrior paused, thinking over the offer. She had been wondering what sort of fighters were accompanying her on this journey. This might prove a good test before committing her life – the lives of her friends – into unproven hands. She'd had enough trouble with allies in the past. There were rogues that were never where you needed them to be, warriors that simply wouldn't wait for orders and mages that couldn't defend themselves from smelly smalls. The scrutiny in Isabela's eyes declared she had been having the same thoughts. They needed to see what the other could do.

"Alright, whoever with the most kills wins?" The Inquisitor finally agreed, knowing that the rules of such games were simple.

"Wins what?" Isabela's sensual smile was full of ideas. One of which already had a hand trailing up Eve's armor.

"You'll just have to beat me to find out." The warrior winked before stepping out into the road, the sailor immediately following. They were several hundred yards away from the closest guard sweeping the perimeter. Eve's eyes scoured the trees as they walked, looking for the hints of movement or stillness that would be Cassandra's creeping advance.

"Hmm. Spotted," Isabela noted a few of the bandits getting to their feet as they spied approaching travelers, "Well, we're meant to be distracting, aren't we?"

With no further warning a dark arm snaked around Eve's waist, pulling her tight to the other woman's side. Her split second of stunned hesitation wasn't resistance to the intimacy but annoyance at how easily she slid into the touch. A few jeers were echoed by ribald laughter from the camp. The Inquisitor pushed her own reaction aside; she knew how to play this game as well.

"That we are." She threw an arm over the sailor's shoulders, careful not to trap her daggers. With her free hand she tilted the captain's face towards her and leaned in. Anyone watching would have to be within inches to see her mouth carefully avoid the other woman's and turn to her ear.

"When the fighting starts I'm heading to the right, don't steal my targets." Eve advised. Isabela's throat hummed with a soft laugh.

"No promises." The whispered taunt was her last playful reply before shifting into battle mode. Trevelyan could feel the rogue's body tensing for the fight. A few more feet. Several of the thugs were walking towards them, eager to begin introductions. Eve leaned back, catching a glimpse of the glittering hardness in her companion's eyes. Time for the real fun.

"The boys were just saying how cold the bedrolls were tonight. Looks like the Maker provided some heat." One of the bandits announced as he strolled directly into the path of the two women. He hadn't even drawn his weapon. Eve and Isabela stepped apart, eyeing the goon. Beyond him there was movement in the trees at the far edge of the forest.

"Surely you aren't thinking of accosting two wayfaring women on a public highway." Eve summoned the image of Vivienne and drew herself up into her most intimidatingly genteel posture. The guard/runners on the far side of the camp would be out of sight in a few more seconds.

"Costing what? We ain't paying, if that's what you thought." A second bandit protested, clearly not one of the thinkers of the gang. The two distant targets disappeared. It might have been Eve's imagination but she could've sworn there were a couple surprised grunts and a faint sizzle in the air.

"Sweets, everything has a price," Isabela scolded, "But tonight it's not coin."

Before the thugs could process the sudden threat in her tone both were slit across the throat. Eve made a mental note to be impressed later, drawing her weapon and charging the closest cluster of surprised enemies. One was knocked to the ground as soon as she hit him, another caught the flat edge of her greatsword as she swung around. A third raised his shield at the last second and the impact vibrated through both Eve's shoulders but didn't slow the attack. The shield and fighter both went flying.

Quick blows finished all three and the Inquisitor was moving again, the grove falling into a chaos of noise as panicking bandits shouted in confusion and the despondent captives got their first taste of hope. Screamed oaths and orders clashed in the air with clanging bars and bashing metal as Eve ripped across half the camp. On reaching the far side she turned to check Isabela's progress. There was a wake of dead bodies but the pirate herself had vanished. Trevelyan spun again, checking in all directions.

The sucking thud of a dagger plunged into someone's chest came from right behind her. Whipping around, Eve found a rogue bandit dropping to his knees, weapon still poised to slash into her from his stealth position.

"Looks like I'm one up on you." Isabela laughed, reappearing at the warrior's elbow. Sarcasm had the Inquisitor turning to retort but instead she abruptly shot her chain. A thug that had been readying an arrow for the pirate's neck was caught in her grappling hook and dragged straight into Eve's boot. He dropped without a sound.

"Sorry. Still tied." The warrior grinned. They both surveyed the carnage, silently counting bodies. Merrill and Cassandra were quickly freeing the captives, helping the injured and weak struggle out of the cages.

"Six?" Isabela's brow furrowed, disappointed with the total.

"Me too." Eve was sure that couldn't be right. Six each? Merrill and Cassandra had taken care of two guards and she was certain no one had been able to escape. Six, six, two.

"We're missing one!" Isabela realized. The words barely left her mouth before a shock wave blasted over them, sending both skidding across the ground.

"A mage. It'd have to be a mage." Eve growled, pushing to her feet and searching for the magical source. Crackling filled the air, the noise of breaking ice as rushing wind whipped around them both. Freezing spells.

"There! On the ridge!" Cassandra's voice caught Eve's ear. The Seeker was beyond the spell zone, pointing to a rocky outcropping behind the tents. A robed figured stood at the top of the highest rock, staff raised high as he charged another cast. Eve could feel frost forming in her hair, air freezing in her lungs.

"'Bela!" Merrill raced forward, blasting a fireball at the enemy but it ricocheted off his barrier, smashing into a tent near the huddling civilians and setting it ablaze.

"No! Get them out of here!" Isabela ordered, viciously waving the elf away. She turned to the Inquisitor, looking for some instruction or permission.

"Last one." Eve grinned, watching the fog of her words cloud the air; anger was its own heat.

"Race you?" The Captain challenged, eyeing the distant target and taking off. The Inquisitor was only a split second behind her heels.

Ice crystals spun and collected all around them, magic furiously weaving as quickly as possible to freeze them inside and out. Each racing step felt like it was cracking bones, tearing frozen muscle but they plowed ahead. The stinging cold met burning pain and waged war, igniting the blood. Eve kept her eyes locked on the enemy, his staff poised with a final spell. They had to get to him before he discharged. Whatever it was would knock them back, it would be enough for him to flee. Then what? He'd head for the closest bandit enclave and bring back reinforcements. _Maker's Burning Breath – I am __**not**_ _spending my last night on the surface waiting for some gang of thugs to come slit my throat!_

Neither woman could move fast enough. Cassandra and Merrill were helping the freed captives to safety and were too far away to reach him. Eve had stopped caring about breaking the tie or winning the competition. He was going to get away. _He's going to get away!_ The fury wrenched more speed from her legs but it wouldn't be enough. She could feel the charge of magic in the air as the spellbinder drew power to himself, ready to release the final blow. She drew all her hate into her eyes, wishing it could be a weapon flying into his face. His face that suddenly erupted in blood as an arrow shaft quivered in the socket of his eye.

The mage staggered, muscles reflexively coiling in shock before he collapsed backward, staff clattering uselessly down the rocks. Warm air washed back over both fighters, every breath thawing their lungs and heating their bones. The Inquisitor checked Isabela, the pirate's breathing labored as her own and face wreathed in surprised confusion. Turning to trace the trajectory of the arrow Eve could just barely make out a figure at the southern edge of the grove. A figure lowering a weapon as it approached. A figure in a familiar cowl.

"I did not think you would mind." Leliana modestly explained when she finally entered the cleared camp. Only a twitch at the side of her mouth hinted at the ego beneath her otherwise humble expression.

"You made that shot? Clear from the forest line?" Eve turned back and forth between the two points, trying to fathom aiming over such a distance. The rest of the companions followed behind the spymaster, all equally amazed but some more effusive than others. At some point everyone had forgotten the lethal list of skills their bard brought to the Inquisition.

"Flaming tits! Did you see that? You saw that, right?" Sera was gaping, "Is that for real? I mean – that's the shit, innit!"

"I'm glad you are so impressed." Leliana smiled, flattered and amused by the near speechless reactions of her allies.

"Are you kidding, Nightingale?" Varric shook his head in appreciative wonder, "I think Bianca sprung a gear!"

Eve's laughter choked when a hand rested over her shoulder, comfortable if not familiar.

"I guess we'll have to agree to a draw." Isabela sighed with a classic pout.

"There'll be another chance." The Inquisitor shrugged. She'd found out what she wanted to know: the Rivaini captain was as deadly with her daggers as with her charms. She'd have her back in the Deep Roads. The teasing graze of fingers at the edge of her collar was an unconscious reminder: Isabela would have more than that if Eve didn't watch herself.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks so much to everyone who's been reviewing and providing feedback so far. It's been really helpful and I have incorporated suggestions. Please continue, the support and enthusiasm keeps me focused.<em>


	8. Under the Stars

_ The site being down over the weekend threw my rhythm. Hope this chapter doesn't feel off._

* * *

><p>The Inquisition company cleared corpses and weapons out of the camp. (Actually, Bull and Blackwall moved bodies; Dorian and Vivienne preferred to incinerate them rather than touch anything dirty). The pilgrims heading to Skyhold would take word to Cullen and a detachment of soldiers would easily sweep out any remaining bandits in the area. For this night, Eve was satisfied they had a secure place to sleep – or in her case, sit by the fire on a not-too-uncomfortable log listening to Blackwall rebuke Vivenne for singeing his boots. By tomorrow night they would be in the Deep Roads. She looked into the evening sky, watching the first stars appear, silently hoping each would hold vigil until she could return and count them again.<p>

Their brief sojourns into Valammar were not much of a preparation for what she knew lay ahead. Leliana had packed provisions for more than two weeks of travel. How far below would they have to go? How many nights under cavernous roofs and carved thaig ceilings with torchlight as their only sun or moon? Varric had told her stories of mazes and dead ends, traps and terrors and countless days surviving on the vile deep mushrooms. _'The only reason we didn't go nuts was because we were crazy to be there in the first place.'_ His laugh had been cynical and bemused as he summarized their adventure. Much as the dwarf loved to exaggerate, the shadows in his eyes promised the tales were true.

"I owe you an apology." Cassandra awkwardly sat down beside the Inquisitor, shattering her apprehensive silence. Eve pulled her head back from the roads ahead and focused on the warrior. The Seeker was hunched forward, elbows on her knees as she glared into the fire to avoid eye contact. Her obvious discomfort had Eve's own stomach clenching sympathetically.

"Damn." Trevelyan muttered, shaking her head and matching Cassandra's posture.

"What?" The Seeker pulled her gaze from the fire, confusion momentarily distracting her from her mission.

"I wish Solas were here. I need him to tell me if the Veil is broken and the Fade running free," Eve explained, straightening up and turning with a smirk, "That's what I would have to assume happened since I never expected to hear those words from you."

"Always the height of hilarity." Cassandra scowled but there was amusement twitching at the edge of her eyes.

"Thank you, I try," the Inquisitor smiled, unfazed by the sarcastic response, "Just what is it you think you need to be sorry for?"

Cassandra looked back to the fire, fists clenched together as though it would take all her strength to force the coming words. Eve had always known the woman to be proud but honest, stubborn yet still fair. She was flinching under the scourging blows of her own sense of duty.

"My argument with Isabela earlier. It was undisciplined. Inappropriate even." The Seeker ground out the admission. Trevelyan had a rich vocabulary of profanity (perhaps not quite so creative as Isabela's but no less extensive) but she knew Cassandra rarely swore. Yet there could be no mistaking the way her mouth contorted over those words like they were obscenities.

"Cassandra, have you heard half of Sera's conversations with Blackwall? I once had to tell Dorian to take his hand out of Iron Bull's pants long enough to cast a spell. I don't think you'd know 'inappropriate' if it was stripped naked and dancing in front of you!" Eve laughed as she disagreed. The story brought a blush to the Seeker's face but a smile as well.

"I would," She argued confidently, "It would look like that impossible pirate whore."

"You _really_ don't like her." Eve marveled. The Seeker was never much of a faker. She wore her heart on her gauntlet most of the time. It was merely convenient that the majority of her ill-suppressed emotions had to do with anger, frustration, revenge and stabbing things.

"I do not trust her." Cassandra corrected with a venom that promised trust wasn't their only issue. Stab, stab, stab.

"Would that be because of her connections with the Raiders? Her relationship with Hawke? Or just the fact that she's a friend of Varric's?" Trevelyan innocently suggested possible explanations.

"I have to pick only one?" The Seeker's eyebrow rose, the sardonic challenge answering all of the above.

"So wonderfully honest about being as judgmental as a menstruating Divine! What's not to love?" Eve only realized what she was saying when the words were already out of her mouth. What should have been an offhand comment was a touch too sincere for jest and her cheeks colored immediately. It was too late to choke it back. Even when she tried to catch the last word it had already begun to roll off her tongue. Cassandra's look of surprise was bridled as quickly as the Inquisitor's mouth.

"I am certain a few people could offer ideas," the Seeker fell back to her defense of rebuffing all compliments and rapidly moved to shift topics, "You must be tired. I saw your lights burning late last evening."

"Oh you did?" Eve gratefully slipped into the easier banter, still cursing herself, "Do you make a habit of watching my nighttime activities?"

"I was checking the men on patrol," Cassandra defended, perhaps a little too quickly, "We've had incidences of guards slacking duty; I wanted to be sure they were performing to expectation before we left them unsupervised. You are being evasive."

**_I _**_am?_ Eve kept the response to herself. The image of Seeker Pentaghast gazing up at her window even in passing was too delightful to lose. Better to not question lest she come up with some more vehement denial that shattered the picture completely.

"I was reading. Heading into the Deep Roads, I thought I might brush up on some dwarf lore and Dorian found me a few books." The Inquisitor explained, knowing she wouldn't have to justify herself to a woman who devoured literature in every spare second that she wasn't being violently destructive. It had given them one more shared confidence; few warriors were respected for being bookish. Eve delighted in finding a new or unusual tome of adventure that she might pass onto the Seeker. It often felt secretive and indulgent, handing off volumes to each other and trading quotes along with fighting tips.

"Find anything interesting?" Cassandra's eyes sparked with excitement.

The Inquisitor hesitated. She'd fallen asleep at her desk amidst the books Dorian gave her. Most of them detailed dwarven history and the blights. A few were legends of paragons and kings. Boring as a clerics' fashion show. How many different words did you need for rocks? There had been one page, however, that was written with words of such bitterness they made her eyes ache. '_We clawed at rock until our fingers bled.'_ She'd read it over and over, knowing that the resentment and fatalism of the verse was a better preparation for the Deep Roads than an entire library of lore. _'We feasted upon the gods. Here we wait.' _Eve could have sworn she felt the uncanny touch of stone fingers reaching out of the page, threat and warning rasping along her skin.

Did she really need to share that with Cassandra? Did it have to be tonight, when they were still on the surface with stars overhead and laughter around them?

"I did find a poem I liked," Eve confided, leaning closer conspiratorially and savoring the Seeker's held breath, "It goes: Do you like fried mush and nug-,"

The rest of the recitation was abruptly canceled by a disapproving slap. It was worth it, though. Cassandra was laughing.

* * *

><p>Merrill set down the last crate of food stuffs for the traumatized pilgrims. Their attack and captivity left them each terrified. The subsequent rescue by people even more horrifically violent and possibly insane made for paralysis. They all gasped and froze anytime Iron Bull moved. Only the little girl seemed unfazed by the bizarre series of events. She was following Cole around, confusing the spirit to no end as he had no idea why a small person kept skipping behind him and trying to reach for his massive hat. Merrill was reasonably certain the girl was an elfhuman mix as she lacked elven ears but had the trademark wide eyes. Or did all children have eyes that big?

"Here, da'len, take these to your mother." Merrill crouched, pulling a bundle of sweet biscuits from the supplies and handing them to the excited girl. The treats were all but crumbled as she clutched them to her chest and ran off, desperate for permission to gorge on what would possibly be the most sugar-filled feast of her young life.

"Good. Sweet and good and kind and sweet; the world is safe and people are kind, we are safe and biscuits! Biscuits are good." Cole muttered, watching the child prance away. He set down the case of supplies he'd carried over for Merrill. He stared at it in a pensive silence for far longer than seemed necessary, even if you hated greens.

"Thank you for your help. You didn't have to." Merrill's finger barely touched the shoulder of his jacket, pulling his attention up.

"I like helping. I'm good at it," the blonde boy assured with a smile that gradually faded, "But you don't need help. You're . . ."

"What?" Merrill could've listed off all the ways she needed constant help. It took three years before she could find her way to Hawke's home and back to the alienage without three wrong turns and an attempted robbery. Unfortunately for thieves, her magical skills were far better than her navigation.

"You don't hurt," Cole managed to explain, "Sad but no regret. Past without pain. Everyone has pain. Why not you?"

"Don't I? My backside is quite sore from the horses." The elf replied in honest confusion, moving to sit by the fire. Cole sat down beside her, watching her watch the blaze. Dancing flames were a magic spell all their own. How many nights of her life had she spent hypnotized by that hungry glow?

"Friends, fires, failing, finding," Cole murmured, "Fires without friends. Then friends around fires and fights and feasts and even without fire, without anything, friends forever, for everything."

Merrill's mind followed the rhythm of the words, circling, rising and falling with the memories of emotions as the spirit shared each one. Whatever intricate dance the thoughts and feelings wove around in her mind they always arrived back at the same security in the middle: she belonged. With Hawke and Varric and Isabela she found the family that she'd lost or maybe never had to begin with. After years of trying so desperately to save her people, to earn their respect and a place among them she'd eventually realized that clans didn't have to be determined by race. She didn't have to hurt after that. What pain could there be with such relief?

"Freedom," Cole breathed, gazing at her in confused amazement, "Is it freedom to have friends?"

Merrill pondered the question as she took in the innocent bewilderment of his face. How old was this demo- Spirit? How many decades had he watched people from the Fade without truly understanding anything he saw?

"It is, I suppose," the elf eventually confirmed, "Friends can help you do things you couldn't do alone. That's freer than I was before."

"I had a friend." Cole's face fell, sadness swallowing his eyes. Who helps with the pain of the helper? Merrill scooted closer and rested an arm around his shoulders.

"I think you have a lot more than one." She pointed out, looking across the diverse band of adventurers that had united for a common cause but now remained together out of uncommon loyalty. They were every bit the dysfunctional family that she herself had found in Kirkwall. They even had similar personalities. The short haired woman that always seemed to be scowling reminded her a lot of Aveline. Fenris would have loved Iron Bull. And the black bearded fellow carried himself a lot like Sebastian. Even the Inquisitor reminded her of Hawke in a lot of ways. Isabela, of course, was completely unique but if anyone seemed like her . . .

"Right, I been looking for you. Piss off, Creepy, I saw her first." Sera's abrupt interruption wasn't as harsh as her words. Cole looked up at the archer, pondering some confused protest. Technically, he'd seen the mage first because they met at Skyhold while Merrill was waiting for Isabela and he didn't know who the woman was that felt like a warm sunbeam on a chilly afternoon. But then, there were many ways to see people. Solas had tried to teach him that. He first saw the brunette elf as a peaceful mystery. Sera saw her as something else.

"Friends for fun." He muttered as he rose to his feet, wandering away to ponder this last insight.

"That wasn't so nice." Merrill chastised Sera as the blonde sat down beside her.

"What? Creepy? Nah, he'll be fine. He gets his thrills poking around inside everyone else's head but eventually he goes quiet and messes about in his own. Make sure he's on your side when you're playing cards." Sera sagely advised.

"Does he cheat? Isabela does." Merrill switched to the new conversation as easily as sails on a different wind.

"No, but he'll sure as shite tell you who's bluffing. Useful, that." The archer's explanation faded along with her own interest in the subject. She hadn't formulated much of a plan for the conversation other than getting her butt into the space where Cole's had been. Her eyebrows knit together in consternation as she glared at the dirt, silently rebuking it for being so – so dirty.

"He's not particularly creepy. He's quite nice," Merrill continued talking, oblivious to the shift in mood of the woman next to her, "Have you seen the giant spiders that nest in the mountain caves? Those are creepy. Big hairy legs and drooly fangs and that screeching noise just before they attack out of the dark?"

"Look," Sera suddenly disrupted the entomological lecture, "I wanted to have a chat cause you're going into the Deep Roads tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course, that's why we're here. Well, not here obviously because this is camp, not the Deep Roads where we need to be." Merrill rambled more when she was nervous or confused. The speed of her words promised she was both and she hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Yeah, I get that," the blonde smirked at the adorably flustered verbal flailing, "I'm not much one for moving fast. Games and teasing and a bit of time to decide who's standing where and in what, that's usually my speed. But heading into the Deep Roads and the like, I was thinking, in case you wind up all dead . . ."

Without finishing the sentence Sera leaned in and pressed a nervous kiss against Merrill's lips. It was little more than a hesitant brush of contact and almost immediately the archer pulled back and held her breath for any possible reaction. Usually bold as bright white before Summerday, the blonde was gripped with an unfamiliar hesitance.

"I don't understand." Merrill objected wide-eyed, one hand still poised near her mouth as if she could catch the fleeting remainder of the touch.

"What's not to understand? It's a kiss, yeah?" Sera frowned, frustrated and confused in equal measure.

"But you kissed me because you think I'm going to die. That's frightening and sad and shouldn't have felt so nice." The brunette continued to argue, a hint of color receding from her cheeks.

"Glad you liked it." Sera breathed a deep sigh of relief, cocky assurance flooding back into her smile. She hadn't lost her touch.

"But then what are you going to do if I live?" the question could have been teasing and flirtatious, a coy invitation to elaborate innuendo. But it was Merrill. It was as innocent and honest as she herself.

"You'll just have to come back to find out." Sera had more than enough innuendo for two.

* * *

><p>From across the fire Leliana watched the two elves shyly feeling their way around the novelty of their attraction. The innocent mage and all too unscrupulous archer couldn't have been more opposite and yet there was a harmony in the way they interacted. They were both childlike, just in their own ways. Perhaps it was Merrill's total lack of guile that intrigued the Red Jenny? What then did the more bashful elf see in the blonde? A variant of her beloved mentor?<p>

"That little imp hurts my kitten and I'll cut her tits off." Isabela seemed to magically appear as soon as the thought had crossed her mind. The pirate dropped down beside the bard, proffering a bottle of something potent. If they were in Skyhold Leliana would have declined. But they weren't.

"I imagine you'll have to wait in line behind Varric." the redhead smiled and took a sip of the burning liquor, "What is it about impending death and danger that makes romance so irresistible?"

The coy games were growing bolder as the two elves grew familiar with being so close that they touched from shoulder to knee. It made the bard feel positively nostalgic. Wasn't that how it had been in Fereldan? Those nights by the fire, sitting watch with Warden Amell but neither of them really watching anything but each other?

"Speak for yourself, songbird. I'm irresistible all the time." Isabela scoffed, pulling her bottle from the other woman's distracted fingers. Leliana smiled. It was comforting to know some things never changed. Even if the sailor sitting next to her now was different from the woman she'd met in Denerim she was still indisputably Isabela; there was only one.

Their companionable silence was broken with a loud, offended voice rising from the far side of the camp. Vivienne, in full indignant force, could frighten ghouls back into their graves with that icy, imperial tone.

"It is not my tent, Bull. Mine does not have blood smeared on the flaps nor _holes_ poked in the canopy!" the absolute statement rang like the verdict of judges.

"Well, with that kind of damage can you blame him for trying to make a swap?" Varric jibed as a chastened Iron Bull collected his tent and passed the enchantress' own back to her.

"I hardly see that it matters," Vivienne's voice was already dismissing the entire notion and everyone involved, "He's going to be in Dorian's bag all night anyway."

"That's only a metaphor, right?" Isabela turned to Leliana as they both tuned out the camp's raucous laughter and protests.

"It would have to be. There's no way they could both fit." The bard admitted, already trying to erase the ensuing mental image. A few more pulls at the shared bottle helped wipe away the thought.

"Nice to see that with the crisis over everyone's returning to healthier obsessions," the pirate murmured approvingly, "A firm ass, full breasts –,"

"And wet frocks, yes?" Leliana filled in, drawing up the memory from years before. How easy it was to fall back in time now that they sat side by side without spectators. She could almost smell the stale ale and piss-soaked wood of The Pearl. Indeed, she half expected to turn around and see Morrigan sneering at the pirate while Alistair fought desperately not to choke on his own tongue.

"Right, though the tits might not be high up on everyone's list." Isabela shook her head with nothing but pity for anyone who didn't see the allure of a bouncing bosom.

"That would only be because they haven't seen yours." The bard had no trouble recalling just how proud the Rivaini was of her assets. Honestly, it was a miracle she ever kept her clothes on.

"There you go with that tongue of yours again. I recall you were quite gifted." The sailor winked, pleased with the compliment and eager to push their memory-filled, suggestion-laden conversation further.

"You were drunk, Captain. So much so that I doubt you could keep Solona and myself straight in your recollections." Leliana argued, face a mask since she was bluffing.

"No, but I wouldn't want to, would I?" the pirate grinned, "And you're wrong, by the way. I've never been too drunk to remember a talented touch. Need me to prove it? We started with your Warden on the bed and you -,"

"I believe you," Leliana quickly cut off the salacious recollection, "I do not think we need to revisit the details."

"Pity, they're quite good." Isabela pouted but with an accepting shrug as she took another drink.

They fell to silence once more, enjoying the warmth of the fire while the past and present merged into one and stopped the flow of time. It was peaceful, letting go of what was to come for a few minutes and simply watching as life wound around them. Was this was it felt like all the time for people like Isabela? To never regret yesterday or worry about tomorrow? No wonder she could be so impulsive. Just like Solona. Just like –

Leliana looked across the fire, spotting Lady Trevelyan lost in conversation with Cassandra. The Inquisitor had the same tranquility about her that had for so long eluded the bard. She'd sought solitude, dedicated herself to prayer, committed to the Chantry and the service of the Divine but she never quite reached the state of casual acceptance that these heroes radiated. The closest she'd come was in stolen moments with her love. For however long they had together, minutes or days, Leliana believed anything was possible. It was as though the woman's confidence flowed through her touch, pouring into anyone close enough to be carried by her strength. The redhead knew that she wasn't the only one so affected (even Morrigan got less cynical around the warden) but she experienced it the strongest.

The Inquisitor had the same gift. Her assurance was enough to carry not just herself but everyone that joined to her side. Her effect could be seen on their company of friends, on the whole of the Inquisition and – most notably – on Seeker Pentaghast. Leliana smiled, watching the two women engage in some playful argument that devolved to laughter. _No one else makes Cassandra laugh like that. _Even when the Nevarran woman tried to be serious the annoyance in her voice was always denied by a traitorous smile. The Seeker was a terrible liar and even worse fake. Her battle-hardened exterior shielded a youthful idealism and Leliana was certain that the jaded romantic had no clue of how happy she looked right now. There was a pleased poise that overtook her manner only when she was with Inquisitor Trevelyan.

"Speaking of romance and impending danger." Isabela's eyes had followed Leliana's to the duo across the fire.

"The only one in danger is you. You are fortunate Cassandra was too focused on her task to see that little spectacle you put on for the bandits." The redhead warned. As soon as she'd seen Isabela's overly intimate display with Eve she'd scanned the forest for the Seeker, half expecting to find trees spontaneously catching fire. The Maker was indeed merciful; the warrior hadn't seen a thing.

"Oh? Think she's the jealous type, do you?" The pirate pretended to consider the threat but there was a gleam in her eye already concocting wicked plans. With days to come journeying into the Deep Roads the exotic seductress would have plenty of opportunities to toy with everyone.

"I have known Seeker Pentaghast for several years now. She will go to great lengths to protect those she cares about. Perhaps it would be best if you stopped playing such games with someone so close to her?" The suggestion was offered in a tone on the edge of threat. Leliana felt unusually protective towards the two warriors and their fledgling bond; the lingering remnants of her own innocent romanticism that had been lost until finding love once more.

"Sure about that? Some people don't know what they have until it's almost taken from them," Isabela's voice bled with experience but she cleared the sound away, "I might be just the kick in the iron pants that Lady Scowls-a-lot needs to get her moving."

"Or it might result in her killing you," Leliana pointed out the far more likely outcome, "Cassandra has lost too many people. She does not deal well with threats."

"Fine. I'll play nice," Isabela sighed, a promise that would last only as long as her memory of the conversation, "But that just means _you_ will have to keep me entertained."

The pirate playfully slid one hand up Leliana's leg and grinned all the wider when fingers clamped over her own, pinning them in place.

"You are lovely, Isabela. But, I think, not so irresistible as you imagine." The bard purred and deliberately pried the hand off her thigh, putting it securely back in Isabela's lap before rising to leave.

"C'mon, give us a song," the pirate taunted from behind, "What about that charming one from Denerim? How did it go? Maker, Maker, Maker, Maker?"

Leliana shook her head with amused resignation as she walked away. Some things would truly never change.

* * *

><p><em>The dwarf poem Eve read is The Profane.<em>

_Feedback and reviews all enthusiastically appreciated._

_ Noticed a couple people already making predictions for coming events - love the ideas!  
><em>


	9. Into the Roads

Inquisitor Trevelyan had been nearly prescient with her plan for entering Orzammar. Riding in with full colors and Inquisition banners (even some extra shine on all the horses' gear) caught everyone's attention and they weren't halfway to the Diamond Quarter before an entire entourage rushed to extend official greeting. The dwarves underground got on with life by pretending the Deep Roads were gone. Baking bread every morning felt a bit redundant if the reality of darkspawn was allowed to linger in your mind. An expedition of Surfacers arriving for the expressed purpose of going below was a reminder none of the citizens needed.

It took less than an hour from the time the Inquisition arrived for the massive steel octagonal doors to groan open and allow them in. Cassandra paid a stable master handsomely to care for their mounts. This entailed leaving specific instructions that no, not even if we haven't come back in a month are you allowed to sell them for profit. No, not even two months. Well, yes, I suppose if we haven't returned in a year you're free to do with them as you like. Just don't sell them as food. Not the chestnut gelding anyway; that was Cassandra's favorite.

Taking the first steps into the waiting dark was momentous and anticlimactic. One, two, three steps, torches guttering in the cold updraft from the hollows of the earth. Four, five, six steps; the beginning of a journey that would likely be thousands.

"Three rogues, two warriors and a mage walk into the Deep Roads." Varric commented, distracting everyone from the noise of the doors sealing shut behind them.

"Is that the beginning of a naughty joke or a tragic tale?" Merrill wondered aloud.

"I'll let you know when we're done." The dwarf shook his head and pressed on in silence.

The first hour venturing down the steep path in the Roads was solemn. The group was still somber from having parted ways with the rest of their friends. Bull and his company would continue to Jader where Isabela's ship was waiting with orders to sail them to Marnus Pell. There had been a certain amount of instruction involved here as well; mostly about the cache of rum stored in the ship's hold that Isabela was adamant the men couldn't touch without her permission. '_There are 12 barrels, Horny, 12. You or one of your friends check every day and be sure none have been tapped. Look under the metal hoops, they're a clever bunch of thieving bastards.'_

The second hour brought them so deep under the earth that the caverns stopped echoing and merely sucked up all sound. In the pressure of that vacuum they could no longer bear silence. Eve hit upon the obvious solution: she asked Varric for a story. The narrator, only too happy to have his mind distracted from being underground launched into a catalogue of tales that were all either too dirty, violent or simply embarrassing to have ever seen print.

The adventurers, guarded and alert in enemy territory, found themselves laughing as they listened to the dwarf weave his stories. They heard of Merrill forcing Fenris to attend the Wintersday festival with her in the alienage. He told them about Aveline and Donnic's wedding and Sebastian's toast that went on ridiculously long and with an awkward number of references to fertile soil. Any mention of Anders made Seeker Pentaghast go angrily silent but even she was entertained by the recounting of his crusade to sterilize Sea Gulls. Apparently their shit spread diseases. Inevitably, Varric found himself winding around to stories of his favorite hero.

_Everyone knows about Hawke saving Kirkwall from the Qunari. It's one of the best chapters of my book if you recall, Seeker. Hawke slays a bunch of Tevinters, Isabela takes off with the Tome of Koslun – don't make that face, Rivaini, you did – and then the pirate has a change of heart and makes a heroic return. Face, Isabela. Most epic battle scene I ever wrote was that one with the Arishok and you know I almost didn't include it? Wanted to gloss over with a simple: 'Hawke and the Arishok dueled over Isabela and the Champion prevailed,' but it wouldn't have been right. Ancestor's Ass Boils, I threw up twice trying to write that chapter. _

_Anyway, Hawke becomes a hero, Isabela takes off and life goes on. Everybody knows that part too, and the fact that they made up when the Captain returned. They had to. Hawke doesn't know how to hold a grudge and Isabela can't apologize worth a damn – if they didn't get back to drinking and laughing together they would've imploded. The bit I didn't include in the book, however, was what it was like for a while after Rivaini came back. Didn't think it added much to the story and really didn't fit with the image I'd created for them._

_They fought. A lot. I mean, they used to fight all the time before; who to invite for a threesome, why Isabela couldn't seduce either Bethany or Aveline, who'd get to be on top; it was like their foreplay. This was different. They were always arguing about something trivial that wasn't even worth fighting about. That was the problem, I guess, they had a hundred arguments but never the one they needed to be having._

_It all comes to a head this day we're heading out to the Wounded Coast to find some stolen cargo that our Friend at the Hanged Man tipped us had been taken by some thugs. Friend, ha! Sera'd probably laugh herself senseless if she found out the Jennys were pulling our strings even then. Very true, Seeker, she IS already senseless. Anyway, we meet outside Kirkwall's gates and I can already tell it's going to be bad. They won't even look at each other, that's how bad it is. Aveline and I went along to try and keep the body count down. Those two had been exceptionally vicious lately and the guard captain wanted at least one survivor to interrogate. The others had been steering clear. Merrill got too upset, Sebastian kept trying to play peacekeeper, Anders and Fenris took sides too easily and riled everybody up._

_We get about halfway out the coast before finding anything to attack and Hawke is off her mark like a horse from the gate. The Champion tears through four thugs before we even catch up and she's looking for more. _

_"__Damn it, Hawke! You can't keep doing that!" Isabela barely even looked before flinging a dagger that nailed a bandit creeping out from behind a boulder._

_"__What? Fighting? It's what I do. The only thing I'm good for, apparently." The Champion's retort started strong but faded to a bitter grumble that we almost couldn't hear. Almost, mind you._

_"__What's that supposed to mean?" Rivaini's in her face now, all set for some knockdown, drag out, stab open style of argument._

_"__Hawke, this isn't the time for a spat! The bandits are just over the crest!" Aveline was always trying to be sensible. Sometimes it worked. Not today._

_"__I didn't hear you complaining when I jumped into the middle of your mess with Hayder in the Chantry. Or going hunting with you all over the Free Marches trying to find that bloody relic of yours. How many spider bites was it? I forget." Hawke didn't lose her temper often but when she did it was truly magnificent to behold. Rage had a way of drawing her up and making her larger than life – which she was, of course, but this made her even bigger. _

_"__Go on, bring up the one you really want to – I know it's right there on the edge of your tongue. Get it over with!" Rivaini, Maker bless her hard head, was the only one that wouldn't back down. I swear, Hawke could've put a dagger to her throat and the pirate would just keep on arguing like she still had the upper hand._

_About that time all the noise they were making attracted the bandits that were camped other side of the bluff. Arrows were the first volley and I found high ground while Aveline went to take out the archers. Isabela and Hawke refused to budge._

_"__Fine! Wall-Eyed Sam. You asked extra nice for help with that one. Oh wait, except it wasn't just him, was it? Bloody half a Qunari battalion and enough Mages to blow Lowtown to the top of Sundermount. But you wouldn't know that would you, seeing as you'd already taken off?" Hawke was shouting now, partially out of anger and partially to be heard over the battle cries of the oncoming thugs. The two women were forcefully separated by the rampaging horde and neither appreciated being distracted._

_"__I had to get the relic from Sam! You told me I could take it!" Isabela's anger could multitask, continuing the argument even as she dashed through two men and spun to stab both before rolling to the next target._

_"__I didn't mean take off with it and leave me a blighted note! Shit, Isabela!" Hawke yelled back, slipping between enemies like lightning flashing through a storm, brief and deadly._

_The note had been a sore spot for quite some time, you see. Hawke probably could've accepted it if Rivaini just took off and vanished into the mists, it was what she'd been expecting. That she left a note – I guess it was that trace of a personal touch that made the Champion feel like she mattered, just not enough to stay. She kept it; I didn't mention that in the book either. Top drawer of the bedside table. Can't tell you the number of times Aveline and I dragged a drunken Hawke back to bed and she'd be muttering 'loyal ally my ass' under her breath._

_Rivaini, I swear on the Maker's own bones, you try to interrupt me one more time I'll have Seeker gag you. _

_The bandits, who easily outnumbered us ten to one are starting to panic. They're falling like scorched leaves and trying to escape as much as attack. Not that it mattered to either of the rogues, they were too busy yelling at each other and killing everything in between._

_"__If I'd known you'd be this ungrateful I never would've come back. Dumbest mistake of my life." Isabela growled and sliced with both daggers across a single, hapless man's throat._

_"__You two seem to be having some troubles." One of the thugs had dropped his weapons and was dodging back and forth, looking for an out._

_"__Really? THAT was the mistake? Not stealing in the first place? Maker, Isabela, you pissed off the fittest pack of religious zealots in Thedas!" Hawke spat as she stabbed through two more men. The panicked man who desperately wanted to live was all but dancing as he tried to evade all the blades._

_"__You know, when my girl and I are fighting –," he began, sweating helpfulness from every pore._

_"__Shut up! We're not like that!" Isabela barked, finally turning her attention to the terrified counselor. He was the last man standing on the field, the rest decimated absently in the two women's rage._

_"__No, we bloody aren't, are we?" Hawke's laugh was as biting as her blades, "All the fun you can want between the sheets and plenty outside as well but the minute I do something stupid like save your life! Oh, Maker, no, can't have that, can we? Can't have any hint at all that maybe I like having you around. What says commitment like 'Hey, Arishok, mind gutting me a few times while I kill you for my pirate lover?'" _

_"__I never asked you to do that!" Isabela's rage was growing primal, growling with all kinds of emotions that she didn't know and couldn't explain and probably only wanted to run from._

_"__You know, communication is –," the helpless bandit found his words strangled by a hand clutching his collar. Isabela's fist jerked tight, silencing his yelp._

_"__You didn't have to! Damn it, Isabela! I would've taken on his entire army singlehanded to keep you safe!" Hawke's fist shot out and caught hold of the same terrified thug, his shirt tearing from the warring forces as the two women faced off. He looked two breaths away from pissing himself._

_"__That's why I left!" The sailor's angry response had dropped to a menacing growl, "You think I want you dying for me? Maybe when we first met in the Hanged Man and you were great pair of daggers and tits I wouldn't have minded, so long as I got to sample the goods first. But you had to go being – being YOU! So maybe the Arishok didn't kill you but Castillon is still out there and I won't have you pulling another ass-headed stunt!"_

_It must have been the sheer intensity of her anger that allowed more sincerity into her words than usual. Rivaini was never much one for honesty or emotion and I tell you, I think even Aveline was holding her breath at that point. Hawke's hard headed and when she's in a rage she doesn't pay much attention to anything anyone says but whatever Isabela was or wasn't saying got through._

_"__You aren't getting rid of me that easy, 'Bela. Not with an Arishok and sure as Andraste's Magnificent Ass not with Castillon," The Champion declared, still full of righteously justified anger, "I'm not dying and I'm not going to go anywhere."_

_"__You're a stubborn ass." Isabela shook her head but the anger had already begun to bleed away, replaced with something equally violent but far friendlier._

_"__Whatever I am, you're stuck with me." Hawke reached for her pirate with one free hand, pulling her close enough to kiss._

_"__Aw, that's lovely. See? Wasn't so hard was it?" The bandit, nearly forgotten in their shared grip, chose the wrong moment to interrupt. Hawke turned to the man and without a word slammed her forehead against his face, he dropped like a limp rag but – and this is what makes him special – he was the only thug of that whole crew to survive. Last I'd heard he fled to Kassel and makes a quiet living as a fisherman._

_Isabela and Hawke wasted no time making amends; enthusiastically. That was when we figured out the problem. They'd reunited but hadn't actually gotten back together. The heart does ugly things when its desire is so close but out of reach. What? Yes, fine, Rivaini, the body is none too pleased either. The first piece of flung armor was all the warning we needed to give them some privacy. Aveline and I barely made it over the ridge before Isabela was swearing like a one-eyed carpenter._

Varric's tale was a marvelous way to pass the time, particularly with the Rivaini's sailor's constant attempts at interruption. The Inquisitor had a happy feeling that this journey might not be so unbearable as she'd first imagined. Even Leliana seemed amused.

"I was scrubbing sand off my skin for days after that. Gets in the most unimaginable places. But then, so does Hawke," Isabela smiled, "Prude says what?"

"Whore." Cassandra rolled her eyes, the insult little more than a reflex.

"That's my girl." The pirate actually sounded affectionate in her smugness.

* * *

><p><em>As always, please review. Feedback of what you liked, what seems off, what chaffs your canon-loving gamer's soul - any of the above.<em>


	10. Crossroads

There is no time in the Deep Roads. No luminaries for defining night and day. Unless they kept track of heartbeats or counted seconds in their minds, the Inquisition adventurers had no concept of the hours. That meant they were not tied to an arbitrary schedule set by the necessities of light and dark. Everything was dark. That was an advantage because they could keep moving until everyone was too tired to carry on. The disadvantage was that they could keep moving until everyone was too tired to carry on. _ And the Captain shows no signs of slowing._

They'd set a grueling pace from the moment they stepped through the gates. Varric had immediately found the trail of the wardens. Even with days of settling dust and crumbled earth obscuring the roadway it was still obvious where a small army had trudged over the ancient pavers. It was also clear where a single entity racing like a Templar after a horde of abominations was following behind. The signs spurred them all to move faster, collapsed caverns and crumbled ruins barely even acknowledged as they scrambled to gain ground.

No one thought of pausing to eat. Chunks of dried ram meat were torn apart and shared; the tough food felt like it took hours just to chew. Each time they found a split in the path and determined their quarry's route they grew more confident. They might have been days behind to begin but their company would move faster than the rebels. The greatest concern was catching Hawke first. The urgent need to find her before she took on an entire band of armed and desperate enemies kept them all pushing forward.

They passed the corpses of darkspawn. The rebels or Hawke or both had been accosted not once or twice but at least four times. Genlock carcasses were unceremoniously rotting along the road but they paused only long enough to ascertain their wounds. One entire pile of bodies had clearly been eviscerated with daggers. Isabela's pleasure nearly burst her corset. The Champion was still brimming with good health and violence.

High spirits were buoying everyone. Eve supposed they'd been trekking for at least 20 hours but it felt like half that; she only knew how many times she'd had to start a fresh torch. They might never have stopped if not for the obstruction they now met.

"Balls." Isabela breathed, scowling at what must have been a set of massive pillars. The troupe gathered solemnly.

"It was once a grand entrance." Leliana murmured, mind lingering in the past. The stones had fallen, leaving little more than a crawl space in an otherwise dead end.

"They went through, the earth is still disturbed." Cassandra knelt, shining her torch into the impenetrable dark.

"And there's blood here, the wounded didn't have an easy time of it." Varric agreed, pointing to the stains on stone that had turned from red to nearly black.

"What? They all crawled in on their knees?" Isabela nervously regarded the small space. It had to be nerves; there was no other reason for her to be scowling at the opening like an enemy that had stolen her favorite weapon and whore. And possibly set fire to her ship as well.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a tunnel." Eve teased, noting the hints of anxiety screwing up the pirate's face.

"I'm a sailor. Big open seas, right? I don't like tight spaces." Isabela snapped, a little more irritable than usual.

"Really? I would've thought you'd prefer a good, tight hole." The Inquisitor smirked, enjoying the other woman's discomfit far too much.

"Not this sort," the sailor shook her head, managing only a wan smile, "Caverns, close walls, small spaces – reminds me too much of prison. I hated prison."

"You were locked up?" Even Merrill was surprised by this new revelation.

"I was, Kitten. A brief stint in an Antivan clink, smelled like fear and piss. Thirty days without sex, longest I'd ever gone 'til then." The captain was gradually settling back into her cocksure self. Crime and sex were her comfort zone and it seemed she seldom had one without the other.

"Oh, well at least it was only a month." The elf immediately looked on the bright side. There were moments when her indestructibly chipper spirit reminded Eve of Josephine. Innocent and naive and ferociously stubborn about maintaining a cheery outlook.

"No, sweets, it was six. But they put me in isolation the last month when they figured out the guards and I were having such fun." Isabela corrected, the smirk on her lips a promise that she'd made good use of her 'down' time.

"Merrill, you can light up the tunnel, yes? We should see how far it goes." Leliana suggested before the conversation got any further off topic.

The mage obediently crouched by the opening, the tip of her staff building a strong glow at its tip, brighter and brighter until it was painful to look at. With a final thrust of her wrist the light orb shot into the narrow space, traveling down the channel with a glowing wake. Everyone knelt or bent to track its progress, each second growing more disheartening as the illumination stayed small and tight. Fifty feet, seventy-five, over a hundred; how much of the structure had collapsed?

All at once there was a massive expansion of the glow, widening out and spreading in every direction before it dispersed. Eve let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. No dead end. And not more than 200 feet of crawling space.

"There, that's not so bad," the Inquisitor clapped her hands together and rubbed briskly the way her old sparring trainer always had just before torturing her for hours, "I'll go in first, Cassandra right behind? If there're any dangers in there we should be able to clear them out quickly."

"I do not like going in on our knees – we will be unarmed if there is a trap." The Seeker shook her head. Inquisitor Trevelyan paused, easily understanding the discomfort; it went against every inch of a warrior's training to present such a vulnerable target. Instead of agreeing, however, she took Cassandra's torch. Waving it from side to side once or twice she abruptly executed a flying spin, the flame creating a protective circle that would have incinerated any enemy close enough.

"I think this will work well enough." Eve flipped the impromptu weapon once with a grin.

"Always showing off." Cassandra rolled her eyes but nodded. That seemed to be the nature of their relationship: amused irritation with absolute trust. Yet another reason Inquisitor Trevelyan liked keeping the Seeker close.

Dropping to her knees, the Inquisitor crawled into the tunnel with the torch lighting her way. The darkness absorbed the flame like water into a rag. However, Eve realized that it wasn't the dark that ate the flame as she moved deeper into the passage. The stone itself sucked up the light, soaking it in until it could take no more. Then the illumination came back, it laced through the collapsed stone and rubble in an intricate woven pattern that seemed to race ahead of her as she moved inch by inch.

Trevelyan stopped, staring at the glowing lattice of the tunnel walls. The torch light was a brilliant orange yet the carved stone shone with veins silvery-white. Fumbling with her free hand she pried a small dagger from her belt, scraping the blade against a luminous streak. It flaked and powdered onto her weapon and she drew it back, sniffing first before hesitantly touching it to her tongue. The taste of metal, a bite like spice, bitter; so very, very bitter. The Inquisitor spat the mineral out.

"Lyrium. They laced it through the stones!" she shared her discovery with the Seeker who was waiting not too patiently behind her.

"Dwarves are not susceptible to magic. Before they began mining and selling lyrium to mages and Templars it would have served them no purpose other than something pretty to look at." Cassandra more easily understood the presence of the magical mineral.

"No, it's more than that. This isn't raw. It's been processed, refined and then used in building whatever this was. I think it used to all be under an enchantment." Eve's brain was cannoning ahead as rapidly as possible, trying to think of why the dwarves would use such a resource not just on a single item but an entire entrance.

"Perhaps if we keep moving," Cassandra was definitely growing impatient, "We will find out what was so important?"

"What's the matter, Seeker? Don't like the view?" Trevelyan smirked but resumed creeping forward. With the refined lyrium glowing on all sides it felt like she was crawling through the belly of a Golem.

Finally the light of her torch stopped bouncing off the close cavern ceiling and bloomed outward into a space that pulled all brightness away. The Inquisitor stumbled to her feet in the darkness, reaching to help guide Cassandra out as well. The light of the flame penetrated no further than bare inches on any side; Eve couldn't even see the whole of her arm. She couldn't sense any movement in the shadows, there was nothing but stillness in the suffocating dark but the hairs on her neck weren't going to relax until she could see where they were.

"We need more light," Trevelyan frowned, looking to the ground for anything to burn. Who knew subterranean caves and stone ruins were so short on combustibles? "Think your pillar of light trick would help?"

"No, I have a better idea." The Seeker shook her head and walked casually into the encompassing black as though it were noonday sun.

"I'd feel better if you'd tell me first, Cassandra. Cassandra?" Eve realized she couldn't hear the other woman's footsteps anymore. She waited several tense seconds before sound reached her once more. Slow and even breathing, then mumbling, words, a recitation.

"'The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next,'"

Eve hadn't been to the Chantry in many years but even she could still recognize the familiar words of Transfigurations 10. Brightness flickered in the gloom around them like lightning dancing through thunderclouds. A spark, a sputter, the darkness stubborn and unyielding. The Inquisitor had a fleeting glimpse of the other woman bowed on one kneee; the posture of a soldier poised to receive honor, a pilgrim their blessing.

"'For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,'" Cassandra's voice grew stronger and Eve found herself muttering along under her breath,

"'She should see fire and go towards Light!'"

The final words channeled all of the Seeker's powers into the room and light flooded them, radiating out of the walls. Eve squinted, covering her eyes from the searing pain as shadows vanished from every corner. Blinking away tears she could make out only blurs at first, a lacework of luminescence that crept and scrawled over the walls and climbed to a ceiling vaulted so high above them it might have been the night's own sky.

"How did you –," Eve no longer cared that her eyes were watering; she didn't dare close them as she took in the brilliance.

"I told you, my special ability is setting lyrium on fire." Cassandra shrugged but her voice was laced with teasing pride.

The Inquisitor did recall hearing the Seeker say as much but she'd never imagined her powers having this application. How much strength did it take to affect so much of the mineral? The refined lyrium decorated every surface, a maze-like pattern that laced together three large archways. Four, if she included the collapsed entrance they'd just come through.

"Maker preserve us." Leliana breathed as she emerged from the tunnel, staring at the radiant room. Merrill was behind her and equally entranced.

"What is this place?" Eve hadn't been able to close her mouth as she turned round and around, hoping to memorize every inch of what she knew she'd never be able to put into words.

"Caridin's Cross. Never thought I'd see it with my own eyes. The Shaperate would shit their pants if they knew a 'Surfacer' set foot here and saw it like this." Varric muttered in awe as he too rose into the cavernous chamber.

"They would be even less pleased to know humans and darkspawn have passed through as well." Leliana was carefully stepping around scuffs and tracks in the dusty floor, studying the numbers and direction of each trail. Eve forced herself to look at Varric, hoping he'd find the time and words for more of an explanation.

"The ancestors made several crossroads for traveling to the twelve great thaigs. This was the biggest," Varric walked almost reverently towards the arches, "The Cross was enchanted, to make it easier for travelers to find their way. The legends said that no dwarf could get lost below ground so long as they could hear the singing stone."

"This stone has not sung for many years." Cassandra ran her gloved hand along a glowing vein of lyrium. Had the first blight tainted the lyrium and broken the enchantment? Perhaps it had simply faded and crumbled with the structure.

How many other expeditions had come into the Deep Roads without every finding this relic? They could have come clear to the dead end and not been able to penetrate the black of the tunnel enough to risk venturing further. Even if anyone else had made it into these ruins, who could have seen it like this? If only for a few minutes, they had a glimpse of the glory of the dwarven empire at its height, the mastery and artistry they displayed in bending the core of the world to their will.

"A crossroads, fine. Which way do we go?" Isabela was the only one not thoroughly awed. Crawling through the tight confines of the passage had left her with scrapes over her arms and knees and a thoroughly displeased demeanor.

"It isn't precisely clear. They seem to have been confused." Leliana shook her head, the words murmured more to herself than anyone else as she carefully mirrored the footprints at her feet. She hummed beneath her breath as she concentrated, the absent melody of some half-forgotten song.

"The wardens?" Eve approached but kept a safe distance, not wanting to interfere with the spymaster as she unraveled her senses to trace their prey.

"Indeed. They split into groups. Half remained here with the hostages and the others went down each of the other roads," the bard murmured as she walked towards one of the arches, knelt to scowl at the tracks and then returned, "Then they all came back. They were scouting teams, you see? The wardens must have waited here for several days while the others went out searching."

"Which means we're even closer at their heels." Eve's fist squeezed reflexively, the scent of battle nearer than ever.

"So is Hawke." Isabela had crouched by the far corner of the chamber, her fingertips grazing the ground. The sailor, who'd not been the slightest bit impressed by the magnificent glowing chamber, was now oddly affected.

Inquisitor Trevelyan walked over, kneeling to inspect the discovery that had made the pirate sound so subdued. The dust and dirt in this corner had been disturbed, no doubt by a body. Beneath Isabela's fingers a mark had been scored into the stone. Scratched with the point of a blade. Eve could see where each cut had been traced over and over, distorted in places but deep enough to be clear. Trevelyan tried to make sense of the mark, squinting to see some pattern. Branches? Antlers? From the captain's reaction it had to be Hawke's marking but Maker alone knew what it meant.

"Which way did they ultimately go?" Cassandra questioned, prodding Leliana further with her tracking. The redhead moved slowly but deliberately towards the passage that (since there were no cardinal directions in the Deep Roads) Eve designated 12 o'clock.

"This passage," The bard finally announced with absolute certainty, "It leads to Orthan Thaig."

"Nightingale, you're definitely going to have to tell me how you know that." Varric wasn't suspicious so much as skeptical. Dwarves of the underground were even more secretive than the Dalish and no knowledge was more closely guarded than that sealed behind the octagonal doors. The spymaster had proven herself informed on a vast array of mysteries but not even that could explain knowing the depths of the Deep Roads. Not unless . . .

"You forget I traveled here, yes? With the Hero and her companions," Leliana's voice was soft with the affections of memory as she brushed a hand over the glowing arch, "The entrance to Orzammar was still wide open then so it was not so dark. We hadn't any idea of lighting the lyrium. Solona would have loved to see this."

"Are the wardens retracing your journey from before? If they sent scouts to find the right direction then they must have been looking for that route." Eve unconsciously moved to the center of the room, her company naturally drawing around her to confer. They needed to understand not just where the rebels were going but also why. Without that piece of the puzzle they were running blind; never the best approach to battle.

"They are looking for something specific," Leliana agreed in that way that promised she was about to contradict as well, "But I do not believe it is the thaig."

Eve waited, hoping there would be more information but nothing was offered beyond that terse reply. Leliana's mouth set in a thin line and her eyes stared hard at the ground, her silence unyielding but her mind on fire. _I hate it when she keeps secrets._ Trevelyan sighed, then chided herself. Leliana was a spymaster, her entire life was defined by secrets; most of which no one would ever know she held. The frustration came in seeing them in her eyes, the answers at the tip of her tongue that she would not share.

"If the wardens and then Hawke decided this was a good place to rest before moving on, I think we should do the same. I'll stand first watch." The Inquisitor decided, letting her satchel of supplies drop to the middle of the floor.

Everyone wordlessly agreed, sighs of appreciation filling the massive chamber as loads were shed. Eve gazed protectively over her companions as they stretched, unfurled bed rolls or simply sat and rested their feet. Isabela went to the corner by Hawke's marking, sitting against the wall and leaning her head back. With her hand pressed over the carving on the floor the pirate's eyes closed in relief. Merrill eagerly helped Varric in getting a fire started - and then in putting out all the excess blazes that she accidentally ignited. Cassandra pulled out her sword and sharpening stone, an evening ritual Eve had come to expect. The sound of rasping metal had grown soothing over so many nights in camp.

Leliana crouched over the tracks of the wardens, studying as if she might divine the motives in their journey.

_I'll give her until we find Hawke. But then she has to start talking._ Eve frowned and turned the last of her attention to keeping watch.

* * *

><p><em>All reviews have been much appreciated - please continue!<em>


	11. Counting

_This chapter is an homage to Bioware's brilliant party banter.  
><em>

* * *

><p><span><em>+One night's rest.+<em>

Eve was the last to wake off the stone floor of Caridin's Cross. She squinted against the still glowing lyrium. The only way she'd managed to sleep was by pulling her bedroll clear over her head to block out the stabbing brightness. How long would Cassandra's feat remain? As long as there was lyrium to consume? Inquisitor Trevelyan rolled to her feet and packed her few things, smiling at the thought of some future expedition wandering this way and being stunned to find a magically illuminated room awaiting them. They'd probably blow out their sphincters.

"How far is the Orthan Thaig?" Varric checked Bianca's mechanisms before shouldering his beloved crossbow. The Inquisitor noticed Cassandra and Isabela making similar inspections of their weapons. They'd been lucky thus far to not meet any enemies – living ones anyway. The longer they went without a fight the twitchier everyone got. It was the nature of anticipating all bad things: the waiting was worse than what came.

"How were we to measure?" Leliana countered with sweet but sharp logic, "We stopped three, maybe four times then but we were also continually beset by darkspawn. If we continue unhindered we will make much better time, no?"

"Yeah, and throw in a couple prayers while you're at it." Varric grunted but unhesitatingly followed Inquisitor Trevelyan as she led them to the next leg of their journey.

_+One night's rest. Two hours walking.+_

"You know, Varric, I think you went a bit overboard with all those lectures you gave the Kitten about protecting herself." Isabela's boredom echoed off the walls and deep into the ruins, a musical note to her voice courting argument just to alleviate the monotony.

"Yeah? How do you figure, Rivaini?" Varric glanced over his shoulder, already smiling in anticipation of some verbal sparring. The pirate was always good for a distraction, some innuendo and a naughty story or three.

"I sent word for my men to collect her from Kirkwall. Put my first mate on the job – good man and an elf too, figured he wouldn't stick out like a boil on a witch's nose." The foreign sailor was warming to her subject, winding up for a good rant.

"I said I was sorry, Isabela." Merrill protested from ahead of them, turning to argue but stumbling as soon as her eyes weren't on the road. Cassandra caught the mage's arm to keep her from falling and silently encouraged her to stay focused. If the dwarf and whore wanted to bicker it would at least be diverting. It certainly couldn't be worse than listening to Dorian goading Vivienne. Or anything that came out of Sera's mouth.

"If you hadn't filled her mind with all those scary stories of yours she wouldn't jump out of her skin the second two innocent men showed up at her door." Isabela continued scolding Varric, never one to be deterred by something as small as details.

"Hey! I wasn't the one that told her elves get kidnapped from the alienage and sold into slavery – that was Fenris! And wasn't it you that told her strange men might sneak into her bed and ravish her if she left the door unlocked?" The dwarf immediately defended his sullied honor.

"I was encouraging her to be optimistic." the pirate sniffed, dismissing his objection.

"They didn't look very innocent." Merrill muttered, half joining the argument but very quietly.

"Brand had the most magnificent hair," Isabela recalled sadly, "A beautiful head full of blonde locks you could just lose your fingers in. It'll be months for it to grow back! And you know it won't come back the same. Probably be all wiry and stiff from getting scorched off."

"Ha! She set – you set him on fire, Daisy?" Varric's barking laugh bounced around them.

"It was one fireball." Merrill admitted; much the way a child might confess to stealing a sweet. Eve nearly found herself thinking Isabela was truly upset about the damage to her crewman. Sneaking a glance backwards she noted a happy sway in the sailor's step and an impish twitch of a smile.

"His eyebrows too. Gone," the pirate continued her list of grievances, forcing an absolute failure of a scowl, "And she horror-ized my other man! It'll be weeks before he stops having nightmares."

"Ah, that's my girl. Good job, Daisy." The dwarf rumbled affectionately. There were similar murmurs of approval from the rest of the band and the elf ducked her head to hide her pleasure. Isabela was outnumbered and garnered no sympathy for her injured men but seemed happily entertained even in defeat.

"Varric, you call Sera 'buttercup' don't you?" Merrill caught hold of a momentary silence and took the conversation on a radical new tangent.

"Yeah, I do." The storyteller confirmed, gamely emptying his mind of any preconceived notions as to where this topic might lead. It was impossible to predict the way Merrill's mind worked and he'd sprained his brain a few too many times trying.

"And I'm 'daisy.' Do you name all your elves for flowers?" the inquiry was so innocent and sincere that it very nearly couldn't be processed by any mind older than 12.

"You're not 'my' elves," Varric corrected, "Maker's Boils, sounds like I keep you guys locked up in a cellar somewhere."

"But we are all flowers then?" Merrill pressed, relentless as truth itself.

"No. If you guys had come before that final dust-up with Corypheus you could've met Chuckles," Varric chortled under his breath at the thought, "You would've liked him."

"Oh! He's sounds nice! Was he a lot of fun?" Excitement trilled in Merrill's voice, undaunted even by sudden bursts of laughter from half the party.

"No one would ever use 'Solas' and 'fun' in the same sentence." Inquisitor Trevelyan supplied once she'd stopped chuckling.

It still felt strange to use his name. The few times she did – always for jest, nothing more – it felt like she was trying to invoke the dead. She looked back to Leliana, trailing at the end of their procession but closely following their every word. She too had a hint of a wound where the mage's name was concerned but for different reasons. Where Eve had an ache in her stomach over the loss of a friend, the spymaster had a smarting ego: stung by secrets she had overlooked that were now too far gone to understand. Both found themselves beset by questions and confusion after his wordless disappearance. It often made silences heavy.

"Not true," Cassandra joined the discussion, "I distinctly recall Blackwall telling Solas that he was no fun."

"Quibbling, Seeker," Varric chided, "Point is, I could never call him any kind of flower. He was too prickly. Some kind of cactus maybe."

"Perhaps he should be 'thistle,' appropriate for a hedge mage, yes?" Leliana suggested, the only indication that she'd been paying attention. Eve shot her a quick glance, barely enough time for a smile and wink; from this distance it may have been invisible in the gloom but she was certain the bard tilted her head in a small nod.

"Raspberries have thorns," Merrill pondered her own idea aloud, "Could he be Raspberry? I like those."

"Whatever you like, Daisy." Varric chuckled, shaking his head as the matter was put to rest and relative silence descended once more.

"Right, I'm still bored." Isabela's complaint faded into the recesses of the ruined halls.

_+Six hours walking+_

More darkspawn corpses. At least two dozen this time. Everyone examined the bodies with their weapons ready but pools of blood and severed limbs promised there couldn't be any survivors. A few of the genlocks were scorched; that meant the wardens had at least one mage with them, probably more.

"This makes 57, yes?" Leliana moved suspiciously through the remains, bow taut and arrow ready.

"I didn't count at the last slaughter. " Eve shook her head, prepared to trust the bard's estimate.

"A million of the blighted bastards down here and we still haven't met even _one_ alive," Isabela gave one carcass a fierce kick, "Is she deliberately killing them all?"

"Going out of her way to slay 'spawn just so you can't? That does sound a bit like Hawke." Varric chuckled, enjoying his friend's petulant irritation. It had been far too long since the pirate sank her blades into an enemy and Eve's own fists clenched with a sympathetic frustration. It was beginning to feel like they were a mop up crew, trailing behind to catalogue the victories until they inevitably found a single defeat.

"It isn't the Champion. It's the wardens." Cassandra announced as she turned over one of the bodies, revealing a familiar griffin crest. Inquisitor Trevelyan immediately joined her, examining the fallen man.

"It is the Joining. It works both ways," Leliana observed, staring down in the warden's dead eyes, "They can sense the taint in others and feel when it is near but so can the darkspawn. They inevitably seek each other out; it is the fate of all Grey Wardens."

The spymaster's voice was cold and detached as she spoke, a hollowness that had voided all emotion. She had confronted the reality of the Calling long ago, understood what it meant in ways no one else ever could. _So many hours of tears._ The redhead's eyes grew tired at the very memory. When Solona had explained what it meant to be a warden, what would eventually happen to her . . .

Leliana knelt down and closed the fallen warden's eyes. He was a rebel, his band the entire reason they were down here and she would have killed him herself if given the chance and yet – _Maker, if any more wardens must die here below let it be with the same honor. Let them fulfill their duty. _She thought the prayer before considering who she even had in mind. The Hero of Ferelden might be searching for a way to fight the Calling but if her time came? The bard knew her love would want to die slaying darkspawn, carrying out her purpose clear to the end.

"The 'spawn didn't get this one." Eve had found another dead warden. The gaping wound in her gut had festered, smelling of infection.

"Must've gotten hurt in the fighting at Weisshaupt." Varric frowned, seeing the age and decay in her wound. She couldn't have put up much fight.

"It is unlikely that she is the only one. Many of their party are undoubtedly injured." Cassandra observed clinically. Wardens healed faster than other people but they weren't invulnerable. These bodies would be the first of many that Trevelyan and her company were sure to find.

"They can't treat their wounds. No healing spells or medicines," Eve realized out loud, "They came down anyway. Severe injuries and hostages and they _still_ didn't stop to recuperate or get supplies! What in the Void is so damned important down here?"

"Clearly something they're all willing to die for." The Seeker shrugged, no closer to an answer than the Inquisitor.

"Wardens are already dead," Leliana corrected as her eyes swept the sad remains of carnage, "That is why they are so much more dangerous than ordinary men."

_+Ten hours walking. Or is it 12? Did I count 11?+_

"I'll take point again, Cassandra." Eve sped her pace to catch up to the warrior in front.

"You have been leading far longer today than I have." Seeker Pentaghast argued, quickening her walk to stay ahead. It had simply made sense for the two of them to trade off being at the head of their convoy. Varric and Leliana being archers made them more valuable in the rear and there had been an unconscious, unanimous desire to keep Merrill sandwiched safely in the middle.

"It only feels like that." Trevelyan shook her head, pointing out the futility of trying to keep track of their turns. The fact was that the Inquisitor _had_ spent more time on point but she also preferred it that way. Being second and following Cassandra was too distracting. With no enemies attacking them and smooth, stone-paved roadway stretching endlessly ahead, Eve found her eyes lingering on the figure striding so confidently in front of her.

In combat Cassandra moved like an animal: low, swift and strong; cannoning into enemies and laying waste to battlefields. On alert she was slow and controlled, ears and eyes turned in every direction as her instincts took over and absorbed everything around them. On the march, as they were now, there was relaxation in her gait, an ease of movement nearly fluid. Despite the weight of the sword and shield strapped to her back she walked with more grace and poise than the ladies Eve had watched dancing at Halamshiral.

The Seeker eschewed traditional heavy armor and used her own custom crafted protection. It was uniquely . . .fitted. Isabela's lack of clothing might leave little to the imagination but after hours of walking behind Cassandra Eve was convinced she knew every curve and sinew of the warrior's body. An entire catalogue of frustrations were mounting behind her eyes and her own armor (a second skin she cherished more than her very flesh) was beginning to feel heavy and constricting.

"You are the Inquisitor, if you wish to lead you must only say so." The Seeker slowed her pace, allowing Eve to catch up with her as they walked.

"I hate pulling rank." Trevelyan confided though she doubted it was much of a secret.

"Truly? I had no idea." Cassandra's smirk promised she'd known all along her fellow warrior's aversion to titles. It had taken a fair amount of persuasion to make the woman even accept 'Inquisitor' and she'd spent weeks flinching anytime she it was used.

"Seeker Pentaghast, get your insubordinate ass back in line where I can't kick it!" Eve did her best impersonation of Cullen's barking commands.

"Not so hard as you thought, was it?" the dark haired fighter smiled and dropped a few paces behind her leader. Trevelyan kept her eyes forward until she could bring the manic grin aching her cheeks back under control.

"I could really get to like this submissive streak in you." Eve called over her shoulder, catching Cassandra's smile before it could be hidden.

"Careful, Inquisitor. I have my limits." The Seeker's warning aimed for threat but fell short and landed somewhere in the realm of a promise that made Eve's spine shiver.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, that's what safe words are for." Isabela's breathy contribution didn't help.

_+Fifteen plus.+_

"Hey, bolt britches!" Isabela's voice called, louder than necessary, to the warrior ahead of her.

"'Cassandra' would do, pirate." The Seeker's reply was firm but weary after so many hours of strained patience.

"Pirate Captain, thank you," the sailor shot back easily, "Have you ever been to the Vinmarks?"

"The mountains north of Kirkwall? Yes. The Seekers had intended to investigate a Grey Warden prison there but we were not permitted entry." Cassandra's voice grew tight, controlling the strength of suddenly spiked anger.

"You remember that place, Rivaini. That was where we found Corypheus and the entire world fell to pieces. Really wish your people had done their job back then, Seeker." Varric jumped in.

"Now is not the time, Varric." The Nevarran woman was losing rein of her temper.

"I was thinking of the western edge, where it gets all Orlesian and funny?" Isabela continued to muse, ignoring the tangential interruptions, "They have a weird bunch of creatures running about. Ghasts they call them. Place is lousy with ghastholes."

"I cannot claim to be familiar with such beasts." Cassandra admitted cautiously. Only three days since they'd met and she already knew not to trust Isabela or anything she said.

"I just wondered if it had something to do with your name. Pentaghast, right? Sounds a bit connected; like someone who penned up a lot of the things. Couldn't be total coincidence." The pirate had an expression of studied and deliberate innocence. It would have been believable if not painted across such shameless lips.

"The origin of our name is too old to trace. I highly doubt it has anything to do with an ancient prowess at handling vermin," the Seeker rolled her eyes, "Although, that would explain much of my family's fondness for politics."

_+Damn it! If one more torch singes my fingers when I light it . . .+_

"Rivaini, I heard a year ago that you made good on that threat of yours." Varric initiated his own relief from the echoing silence that closed in from all sides.

"Which one? Distributing the anatomically accurate drawings of Aveline?" Isabela happily caught the conversation ball and tossed it back with a touch of spin.

"No, that idea about the Queen of Antiva. Some Crows told me she went missing for over a week. You stole her didn't you?" the dwarf had been tickled by the very idea and knew that the only person who could have pulled it off was his pirate.

"Ye- no- well, sort of." Isabela's tongue wrestled with a response.

"What kind of answer is that?"

"The kind you get when I didn't actually steal her. I mean, that was my intention of course but the woman was so bloody excited about it!" the pirate explained, reliving the delightful surprise, "She never gets to leave the palace and just couldn't wait for a chance to be away. It was like she was on holiday. She got her own private taste of adventure."

"Uh-huh. You're gloating, Rivaini. Adventure wasn't all she tasted, was it?"

"Ugh. Varric!" Cassandra scolded, distaste curling the name into a snarl.

"She enjoyed my hospitality, sweets, and that's all I'll say." Odd that Isabela could say more with one denial than an entire troupe of bragging drunks.

"Are you actually saying you seduced the Queen of Antiva?" Eve wasn't even sure how she could still be surprised by such an idea.

"No! There was absolutely no seducing going on," Isabela immediately objected, "I mean, how could I? She had her clothes off before I'd even finished talking."

"Now _that's_ a story," Varric grinned, "I think I can use that. 'The Queen of Antiva lay helpless, bound hand and foot –,'"

"She wasn't tied up. Not right off, anyway." The sailor helpfully corrected.

"Fine.'The Queen of Antiva lay helpless and trembling in the cabin of Dread Pirate Isabela –,'"

"Why does it have to be Dread Pirate? Can't it be Ravishing?" the offended Isabela protested.

"It's more dramatic my way, Rivaini," Varric sighed in irritation; he hated editors, "Keep it up and I'll change it to her jumping at you naked from behind the door!"

"Oh, that sounds fun! I like Hide-and-Seek!" Merrill was immediately delighted at the thought of a game.

"I'll be sure to mention that to Sera when we get back, Daisy." Varric chuckled, earning yet another noise of revulsion from Cassandra but a giggle from the bard behind. Eve devoted the entirety of her attention for the next hour to erasing from her mind all thought of two naked elves crouching and chasing each other through Skyhold.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews and feedback welcome. Thank you.<em>


	12. Unrest

When the Inquisition company found a fourth cold camp site they were all inclined to rest. Isabela stood by the scattered ashes for less than a minute before honing in on Hawke's mark, a silent permission to shed their burdens. The Champion of Kirkwall wasn't even present and yet it felt as if her invisible hand was guiding them all. Someone with more ego might have resented making decisions based on another's path; Eve simply dropped to the ground with a sigh of gratitude. She'd learned early on with the Inquisition (and particularly her company of friends) that any choice which didn't involve two hours of debate and bickering needed to be prized as a gift from the Maker.

"I wonder how much further it is to the thaig." Cassandra crouched next to the Inquisitor, still too tense to relax. Trevelyan had learned to capitalize on every second of relief but even she was having trouble calming the agitation in her muscles. So many hours of being clenched tighter than Vivienne's ass took time to release.

"I wonder if we're ever going to see some action. I've never been in armor this long without getting my sword dirty," Eve grumbled, "At this rate the thing is going to rust in its sheath!"

"You're exaggerating again, Inquisitor." Varric counseled; he protected hyperbole as his own domain.

Eve didn't reply, shifting to lean forward in a posture that was nearly sulking. Days without combat had her on edge. It felt imbalanced; the weight of her armor, the wear on her body but none of the adrenaline that made it worthwhile. She was a fighter without an enemy; allow that situation to last for too long and warriors will invent their own foes. The anger knotting between her hunched shoulders was beginning to spread to her mind. If she didn't get to draw her sword soon then all that tension was going to start snapping out in the wrong places. She didn't notice the Seeker carefully scrutinizing her until the woman suddenly stood.

"On your feet." Cassandra ordered.

"What?" Eve stared up in confusion but her body was already moving. That imperious voice triggered an instinctive obedience. Much as they joked about rank, titles or command, there could be no denying Cassandra always had the upper hand. Eve accepted the fact, others noticed it, only the Seeker herself seemed oblivious.

"You do not want your sword to rust? Draw it. There is space enough to spar." The Nevarran led Inquisitor Trevelyan to the open patch of ground some meters distant from their resting company.

"Is that wise? You two should be conserving your strength, no?" Leliana called after the two warriors but Eve could already feel her heart speeding up.

A sparring match. That might be just the thing. She habitually rotated training with Blackwall, Iron Bull and Cassandra; it was always the Seeker that made her work the hardest. She felt a smile spreading across her face as she drew her greatsword.

"I think it possible to have too much strength, Leliana. Our Inquisitor clearly will not rest until she is fatigued." Cassandra readied her shield and weapon.

"Oh, going to wear me out, are you?" Eve spun her weapon, beginning to move into the circle they always paced in their duels.

"It shouldn't take long." The Seeker smirked, banging the flat of her blade against her shield, challenge and invitation.

_Right. That shield is going to have to go first._ Trevelyan narrowed her eyes and made the first testing lunge. It was easily deflected, as were the second and third; she expected as much. Fighting with Cassandra was an unusual challenge, the woman always seemed to know exactly what her opponent was about to do. She moved to block bows before the Inquisitor had even begun to swing.

"You are not even trying." Cassandra teased, spinning away from a slash.

"I'm warming up." Eve shrugged, reversing her direction and driving the Seeker into another dancing dodge.

The only way to beat the Seeker's reflexes was to be completely unexpected. The best way to do that, Trevelyan found, was to pretend she was bat-shit crazy. Eve counted her steps and timed her swings, sweeping in close with as many rapid moves as she could squeeze into short bursts. Cassandra was stubborn, she never gave ground unless she absolutely had to and that was exactly what the younger warrior was counting on. She feinted a swipe, flipped her grip and drove in hard, shoulder colliding with the Seeker's emblazoned breastplate before she could block. _This is why I like this sword._ Eve grinned, making sure the curving cross guard caught the edge of Cassandra's shield and hooked in.

"You clever cheat." The Seeker was suitably impressed. She now couldn't force her enemy back nor attack with her own weapon; her best defense had become a liability.

Cassandra tried twice to dislodge Eve's grip on her shield but no matter how forcefully she pushed they stayed locked together. The Inquisitor smiled, watching the growing surprise eat across her opponent's eyes. All she had to do now was keep her footing and wait. They twisted and spun, Eve constantly countering every move the Seeker made to break away and gain space.

"Are you two fighting or dancing, Seeker?" Varric demanded from a safe distance. Cassandra rolled her eyes at the heckling and finally made the unavoidable choice: to break the stalemate she surrendered the shield. Pulling her arm free she executed a stunning backwards roll, emerging perfectly into an offensive stance once more.

"I do not dance." The Nevarran stated simply, waiting for the Inquisitor to catch up. Eve tossed the relinquished shield aside and readied herself for the second round.

"Pity, I would've happily waltzed you around Halamshiral," the Inquisitor sighed as wistfully as possible on such short breath, "Next time I'll let you bring a sword and we'll do this on the dance floor."

"I cannot even imagine what people would think." The Seeker's brow knit together in the way it always did when she was fighting not to smile. They traded blows, a rapid exchange circling each other without ever gaining ground.

"I can," Eve brushed hair from her eyes and slowed her breathing, "They'd be jealous."

"Of whom?" Cassandra challenged, skeptical but amused.

"If you could see yourself right now? You wouldn't have to ask." Eve grinned, grateful that the heat of their sparring match hid her flush of color. It had to be the thrill of the fight, the speed of her heart and blood and breath; the voice of reason was screaming that she was being entirely too bold. Such rational thought was drowned out by instinct, the voice that always took over in combat.

The second set of attacks increased intensity, brute force fighting for dominance where speed hadn't succeeded. Eve found her blade caught in an overhead block, a position that brought the two warriors so close she could feel breath tickling her cheek. Had she ever been this close to Cassandra's face? Her muscles began to shake as she fought to hold her ground and she could feel an identical trembling strain in the other woman's resistance. The line between the Seeker's brow was a single deep groove and her mouth a curve of pure threat. Her eyes were narrowed but positively brilliant, reflecting pinpoints of firelight like constellations.

_Close enough to kiss._ Trevelyan swallowed, realizing she'd been staring and letting herself drift too close. Too close to dangerous thoughts, to available temptations, ruinous mistakes. She blinked rapidly, prying her eyes away from the depths of color she'd been falling into. Surrendering ground, Eve broke away and stepped back. She took a gulp of air, trying to clear her senses of the scent of leather and metal warmed by skin.

If she'd gotten so lost in Cassandra's gaze, what might the Seeker have been able to see? The Inquisitor felt a fist grip inside her stomach and twist. Guiltily, her glance darted back to the other woman's eyes. The furrowed brow had turned quizzical, caught between surprise and confusion. For a moment the Inquisitor thought she almost saw a flash of emotion, a hint of reaction so beyond her fathoming that it vanished before she could be sure it had existed at all.

"Come, Inquisitor," Leliana's melodic voice was even richer with her enjoyment, "You cannot simply surrender to every pretty face."

Eve shook her head, not to reply to the taunt but to clear the last traitorous thoughts. It was a sparring match; they'd done this dozens of times. There was no reason for it to be different today. Convinced that she'd scolded her body and mind back into control Trevelyan raised her blade, mentally promising that this would be the final round.

If Cassandra was surprised by the sudden speed and violence of the Inquisitor's ensuing attack, it didn't show in her expression. In fact, she seemed calm; pleased even, as if she had expected it all along. Eve drove forward with everything she had, turning the anger of her lapsed judgment into raw power. It was her only chance of advantage over a warrior with more skill, speed and experience than her own. Sweat stung her eyes and raised chills on her arms and neck with every gust of air that raced past her blade.

Cassandra gave ground and blocked and gave, parried, danced, gave some more. Eve would've been holding her breath if it wasn't coming in ragged gasps. _Am I -? Am I winning?_ Defeating a warrior who'd started training as a Seeker at the age of six had never seemed like an option; the Inquisitor's sole goal had always been to avoid total humiliation. Yet with every blow that cut through her defenses and pushed the Nevarran woman back, Eve began to wonder if she had a chance.

_If I'm winning, why is she smiling?_ The thought brought crystal clear understanding to Inquisitor Trevelyan half a second too late. The staggering blow that caught her unawares sent her reeling and was followed with a punishing assault. Her sword was twisted until it fell from her grip just before a force like a solid wall cannoned into her chest, bowling her completely over. Eve hit the ground at the same time as her weapon, the clang of metal on stone echoing the ringing in her ears. The edges of her vision blurred, tiny dots and creeping shadows devouring all she could see while she struggled to pull air back into her body. When her lungs finally cooperated the first grateful breath left her body as a curse. _How in Andraste's Flaming Name did she do that?_

With her vision clearing the Inquisitor realized why she could barely breathe. Not only had she had the wind knocked out of her but the Seeker had chosen to be thorough: she had followed her victim to the ground, pinning her flat. The victorious Nevarran was still hovering above her; the smug angle of her eyebrow matched her mocking smile. Rather than immediately getting up – as Eve expected – the woman remained watching her, studying her face as she regained her senses. The pain and tension leaving her muscles left Trevelyan acutely aware of each point of contact with the body holding her down. One hand held her wrists, an arm pressed hard across her chest, a knee dug mercilessly into her thigh, the other stretched back and across her free leg for leverage. If she took a deep enough breath she might feel the brush of metal.

Their companions were applauding with approaching footsteps and the Inquisitor knew that at any moment Cassandra would get up and this bizarre but divine intimacy would end. The exhilaration of battle had colored the Seeker's cheeks and her eyes stood out dark in her face. The sound of her breathing was all Eve could notice until the woman leaned in close, tilting to confide a final taunting whisper into the Inquisitor's ear before abruptly rising to her feet.

Trevelyan remained on the stone floor, unmoving as she stared up to the cavernous dark of the ceiling. If she held perfectly still she could hang onto the touch of a cheek against hers, draw out the shudder of words in her ear. If she didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe, she could nearly taste the skin that had been so tantalizingly close. The image she was desperately trying to sear into the stones above her head was blotted out by Leliana's face drifting into view. Eve growled in the back of her throat, knowing she had to let the transcendental moment flee.

"That woman will be the death of me." The Inquisitor groaned and struggled to raise herself to her elbows.

"Then how is it that you look more alive than I have ever seen?" Leliana teased as she extended a hand and helped the warrior to her feet. Eve nodded thanks and brushed herself off, collecting her sword and her remaining dignity. As she sheathed the weapon she turned back to her companions, spotting the triumphant Cassandra laughing with Varric. The Seeker's eyes caught Trevelyan's. Not for long; a fleeting contact that could easily be missed or ignored but it wasn't. Eve saw the shining gaze and heard once more the whisper in her ear. _'We are both too rash, Inquisitor, but I have learned the benefits of going slow.'_

Was the woman toying with her now? Or could she truly be so blind to her effect?

* * *

><p>After the excitement of the Inquisitor's sparring match with Seeker Pentaghast it was easier for everyone to settle into the comforts of rest. Merrill had helpfully offered to heal Eve's bruised back, a kindness undertaken at cost since her mastery of non-destructive magic was rudimentary at best. Curses and apologies occasionally punctuated the overall calm of the camp.<p>

Leliana observed Isabela seated at a slight remove from the others, fingers tracing repeatedly over the crude etching in the floor. Vague on her exact purpose, the bard slipped over and sat nearby. In the silence she measured the depth of heavy thought in the pirate's eyes, the unfamiliar expression of tranquility hinted at in her lips. The spymaster knew Isabela to be fun loving and flirtatious as often as it was allowed. She could also be ruthless, conniving and cold as steel when it was necessary. This new softening around her edges was what fascinated Leliana. The bard never would have thought the other woman capable of such a thing as tenderness but watching the movement of her fingers she knew that was precisely what it must be called.

"The Champion came into the Deep Roads four days before us, yes?" Leliana questioned quietly, loathe to break the spell of Isabela's communion with Hawke's signature in the stone.

"By my count." The pirate nodded, turning her attention to the bard but not drawing her fingers up from the mark. It was as if she drew power just from the feel of its jagged grooves. The warmth in her amber eyes folded back in on itself, an emotion meant only for privacy.

"Then she has been alone here for close to a week. That is no small challenge." The bard cautiously felt her way around words which suited the thought that had begun plaguing her mind.

"Yeah, well Hawke never could do anything the easy way." Isabela shook her head without a hint of reproach. The redhead nodded, buying a few seconds to decide whether or not to plunge on.

"Have you thought," she hesitated, scrutinizing every inch of the sailor's face, "Have you even considered that we may not find her?"

Isabela's brow furrowed, examining Leliana as though she hadn't actually seen her before.

"No. I haven't," she stated with the straightforward clarity parents used with children, "I don't have to. We're going to find her."

"Isabela," the bard took a breath, wondering if it was possible to make reality clear, "What if we find her too late? A week alone in the Deep Roads is longer than most Grey Wardens even last. If she had help perhaps-,"

"She has us," the Rivaini interrupted, a flash of anger coloring her cheeks, "And she's Hawke. You don't know her so you can't know what that means. You haven't got a bloody clue what that woman is capable of."

The sheer adamant intensity of the statement was impressive. Leliana believed herself a woman of faith, she knew its feel and shape and depth but even she could be surprised on encountering it in unexpected places. She'd known Isabela to be a woman of strongly held beliefs but they had always been simple, fleshly convictions. The pirate had faith in money and pleasure, in victory and survival; she had faith – above all – in herself. To see the flame of emotion lighting her eyes now, Leliana was surprised but heartened. Isabela had found something that she believed in even more: she believed in Hawke.

It was inspiring, finding such loyalty housed in a woman who would happily bed a regiment. In days or weeks Leliana would become Divine, the leader of the Chantry and embodiment of Andraste's will yet she still was learning the scale and scope of the Maker's unfathomable ways.

"She must be impressive indeed, to have moved even you to such devotion." The bard concluded with a warm smile, pressing her hand onto Isabela's, saluting both the mark and the woman who made it.

"Just you wait 'til we find her, Songbird," the dark skinned sailor's coy humor evaded the emotional moment, "I'll give you a few hours alone and I guarantee she'll have you singing hymns for days."

* * *

><p>Inquisitor Trevelyan had been straining to listen to the private conversation some distance away. It had been mostly mumbles between Isabela's forceful declaration of confidence and Leliana's eventual laughter. Still, she found herself turning the pirate's words over in her mind. She'd fought alongside Hawke, in circumstances ordinary, daunting and unimaginable. Could the Champion truly be alive after undertaking such a harrowing mission alone?<p>

"I hope she's right." Eve murmured, choosing to ignore the darker possible answers.

"She is." Merrill easily responded, having finally finished torturing the other woman's back.

"She is," Varric confirmed as well but continued as he saw Trevelyan's skeptical frown, "I know you saw some of what Hawke can do, Inquisitor. Adamant, the Fade – that was a good sample but you have to understand, that wasn't even close to what she can do when she has to."

"Are you saying she was holding back?" The Inquisitor challenged playfully. It certainly hadn't looked or felt as is the Champion had restrained herself.

"Of course not. She'll give you her all or die trying every step of the way," the dwarf shook his head, dismissing such thoughts even as a joke, "What I'm saying is not even Hawke knows what she's capable of until someone she loves is on the line. Saving Kirkwall, saving Thedas; that's all well and good and she's fit for the job but she'll be rational about it, she'll calculate her moves and strategies and make sacrifices. Touch her family? Her friends or - Maker forbid - her lover? All bets are off. She might be a calm, sarcastic smart-ass the whole time but she'll fight everything to the Void and back! And she'll win."

"You really do admire her, don't you?" Eve wondered, enjoying the passion that filled his words.

"Yeah, I suppose I do." Varric chuckled, realizing how intense he'd sounded.

"Idolize, even?" the Inquisitor probed further. She hadn't heard the storyteller speak with so much praise of anyone, not counting his crossbow. If she hadn't known about Isabela as well as Bianca's namesake, she might have thought that the dwarf and Champion were more than friends.

"Don't go overboard now. I joined your followers for a reason," the blonde dwarf countered, "But Hawke was different. She was special because, well; I guess because she wasn't."

"Is it special to not be special? But then isn't everyone special?" Merrill, who'd been quietly following the conversation, interrupted with a frown.

"It's like this, Daisy. The Hero of Ferelden was a mage who became a Grey Warden. Hardly your average citizen in Thedas," Varric patiently elaborated, "And our Inquisitorialness here may not have been divinely appointed but she was given a magical mark with the sole power to save the whole world. Compared to that what was Hawke? A run of the mill dog-lover refugee trying to protect her family and friends. She was recklessly impulsive - near suicidal - but really, really damn good at taking care of others; that was what made her special. Her adventures may not have been as epic as others we've seen," a small, respectful nod towards Eve, "But she was every inch the hero I always wanted to write about."

Trevelyan's head nodded slowly as she absorbed the testimonial. He'd expressed facts that she'd found herself trying to understand since this epic change in her life began. Some heroes were forged in crises, such as Warden Amell; others came about by chance, like herself. Hawke was apparently one of the truly rare: a hero from birth, someone ordinary who accomplished the impossible. All three of them would be legends but in generations to come, Eve suspected, only she would end up a myth.

"When I hear you talk like that I have to agree: she really must still be alive." The Inquisitor pushed aside ruminations that made her head ache. They did what had to be done: Herself, the Inquisition, the Hero, the Champion. Questioning fate or the future would only confuse the decisions of today.

"She absolutely is. I'll bet you 100 sovereigns." Varric challenged, always ready to turn a dire situation to his advantage. He extended his hand with a sly grin that would've scared sharks.

"You're on." Eve grinned and shook with him, sealing the bet.

"Besides," the dwarf added as an afterthought, "If Hawke were dead her spirit would already be here trying to possess someone so she could get into Isabela's pants."

* * *

><p><em>Comments and reviews all appreciated. Feedback keeps my thumb on the pulse of the story.<em>


	13. Panic

You can tell a lot about people from the way they sleep. Seeker Pentghast stood her turn at watch, musing on the truths no one could hide in slumber. Varric lay on his back, legs crossed, an arm behind his head as if he were gazing at invisible stars. Dwarves were known to not dream but Cassandra had to wonder if he didn't find some way of creating stories in his sleep. Not far from him Merrill was on her side, face partially concealed behind her fists. Tucked into a tiny ball she resembled the kitten that had become her moniker.

Isabela slept sprawled, not much of a surprise there. The pirate consumed and commanded space the same way she did attention. Leliana's peaceful repose would've fooled many. She lay straight and serene as the guest of honor at a wake. It took careful study to even note the gentle movement of her breath. Cassandra knew, however, that the bard wasn't so lost in dreams as she appeared. The slightest danger would bring her to full alert and her hands resting beneath the blanket were never more than an inch from daggers concealed under her cloak. There would be no assassinating this Divine.

The Inquisitor fought even in her sleep. She rolled and thrashed, wrestling the bedroll until it was wound so tight around her that they'd likely have to cut her free in the morning. The Seeker had learned some time ago that Eve suffered nightmares; she'd even witnessed an occasion when the woman roused servants from two floors of Skyhold with her screams. Tonight (or today, or this morning, or whatever Maker-forsaken time this was) she was quiet in her distress. Perhaps the presence of others nearby subdued the worst of the plagues in her mind.

With her observations complete, Cassandra had little else for distraction and found her thoughts turning back to earlier events. What had possessed her to be so brash? A strange spirit took over her instincts where the Inquisitor was involved; choices and words that she would deem foolish, taunting, provocative even, all became easier in her presence. It was like the effect of strong drink or a potent medicine, the sort that made you see pictures and colors where there had been nothing before.

A sound like choking jerked the Seeker from her meditation, instantly going into a defensive crouch. She spun, sweeping the full circle of their camp but there was no movement in any direction. The noise came again, this time clearly a guttural moan from the Inquisitor's throat. Cassandra sheathed her weapon with a small sigh of weary relief. The sleeping warrior was flushed, twisting back and forth with pain knotting her face. Pentaghast quietly approached, kneeling by the tumultuous sleeper's side.

_She should not have to bear the memories alone._ Cassandra frowned, wondering which of a hundred battles or tastes of death were plaguing her dreams. In reality there had been help, almost every step of the way the Inquisitor had stood with allies. But at night the threats came and found her by herself. Her mouth parted and this time the sound formed a word.

"Cass-," The drawn out syllable was little more than a whisper and the Seeker couldn't be sure she'd heard correctly.

"Cassandra." The second time there could be no mistake. The Nevarran warrior paled, realizing somehow she was involved in her friend's distress.

The unconscious call was quiet but a third repetition grew even louder. Much longer and she would be waking the entire camp. Cassandra reached to wake her but hesitated. The woman's strength and reflexes reached impossible heights in her nightmares. The one time Sera had shaken their leader awake she'd sported a black eye for a week. Nor could the Seeker wake her with her voice as it would also rouse the others. She doubted the Inquisitor would want anyone else knowing of her trouble. How did you pull someone from a dream?

_How do you pull them from anything?_ Cassandra took a breath, readying herself to duck, and gently squeezed the Inquisitor's hand. Before she could pull back a grip like iron wrapped around her fingers and Eve's eyes shot open as she bolted up. The Seeker caught her shoulder, keeping her from lunging clear to her feet. She could almost see the details of imaginary terror fading out of the woman's haunted gaze.

"It was a dream, Inquisitor," Cassandra promised, her voice quiet but firm to cut through the lingering panic, "You are safe."

Trevelyan nodded dumbly, relaxing onto her elbow as she forced her mind back to reality. Even as her breathing and heart beat calmed her fist showed no sign of releasing its death grip on the Seeker's hand.

"Sorry." Eve managed to mutter, licking her parched lips.

"It is hardly your fault," the other warrior kindly assured, "Do you recall the nightmare?"

"No," the Inquisitor gradually shook her head, unable to call up any of the images that had terrorized her, "I almost never do. A souvenir from that damn Fade demon I think."

"Perhaps. It was only," Cassandra paused, debating if it even mattered enough to say, "I wondered because you called for me."

"I did?" Trevelyan's surprise turned swiftly to a shy smile, eyes dropping away, "I guess you make me feel safe."

"If it is safety you desire, perhaps you should consider invoking Iron Bull next time?" The Seeker had learned bits and pieces of the humor that could restore her friend's ease. It was a language she picked up slowly, noting which words and tones were best for trading jests and igniting laughter as it did now.

"Iron Bull's solution for a bad dream would probably be thumping me in the head with a greataxe pommel." Eve chuckled but her gaze no longer avoided the Seeker's.

"That was going to be my second solution." Cassandra smiled, pleased that the other woman had relaxed once more.

"Plus, it's much nicer to wake up and see your face than his big ox-head." Trevelyan yawned and lay back down, eyes beginning to weigh heavy with sleep again.

The Seeker habitually blocked compliments from entering her thoughts, ushering them in one ear and kicking them out the other. Odd then, that Eve's simple remark burrowed so rapidly into her mind and wrapped itself in a rush of warmth. It was probably connected to the hour, her fatigue, these unusual circumstances or the fact that her hand was still being held. All of that had to have combined to create the strange delight that was more appropriate for a teenage girl than a hardened Seeker of Truth.

"Can you rest now?" Cassandra shoved her peculiar reactions to the back of her thoughts; they'd be dealt with later. Preferably much later.

Eve's brow creased, a line of stress between her eyes that answered before her words. The grip on the Seeker's fingers squeezed unconsciously and that was an answer as well. Cassandra shifted out of her crouch, sitting down to be more comfortable without moving away. The Inquisitor realized what the change of position meant and let out a deep breath of relief, features smoothing over. She started to turn and abruptly realized that she still held a hand clutched in her own.

"Sorry." Trevelyan muttered again, reddening even more than in the heat of the nightmare. She released her grip but was startled when Cassandra held on.

"I'm glad to help." The Seeker shook her head, refusing any hint of apology. It was such a small thing but it truly did make her happy to see how the other woman's face lit up at the tiny gesture of comfort. Cassandra wasn't sure if it was ego on her part or an honest assessment that told her their Inquisitor wouldn't allow just anyone to see her so vulnerable or offer solace.

"Thanks." Eve's smile was always a shade more subdued and hesitant in honesty.

The Seeker watched her friend's eyes close as sleep came rushing to sweep her away once more. _When did it become so easy to think of you as a friend?_ Cassandra wondered, unable to trace the evolution from suspicion to trust, respect to admiration. Somehow it had all tied itself into a knot of emotion she couldn't unravel. Friends had been rare in her life, due as much to the rigors of her calling as to her own need to keep people at a safe distance. Leliana was the first in many years and they'd forged a bond out of common devotion to the Chantry and mutual respect for each other's abilities. The other members of the Inquisition had all wormed their way into her life to varying degrees of fondness and loyalty but none of them were quite like Eve. Seeker Pentaghast was beginning to doubt anyone was.

"Cassandra?" the murmured question was too tranquil for nightmares but barely awake.

"I'm here." The Seeker answered, knowing there had to be a reason the Inquisitor returned from the brink of slumber.

"I'm glad I have you." Warm contentment purred through her voice. Once more Cassandra felt a tickling suspicion beneath her thoughts, a hint that what was being said and heard between them was more than what was actually spoken. She waited, holding her tongue until she saw the sign of dreams fluttering the Inquisitor's eyes. A few twitches of the fingers in her grip promised Eve was well away.

"You always will." Cassandra replied beneath her breath, words caught between a promise and prayer.

* * *

><p>Leliana had heartened everyone's spirits with the assurance that Orthan's Thaig drew close. They would easily reach the ruins with time to explore and even move on before needing to rest. Eve felt fresh fire in her blood at the news and led them with energized speed. An unusually good night's sleep helped as well. She'd had the most marvelous dream. <em>It seemed so real.<em>

"Someone's glowing today." Isabela observed casually.

The pirate had taken up second position for the day, even more impatient than usual to push ahead. There were those that believed natives of Rivain were gifted with extra powers: the ability to read the Fade, to detect the gods and – most important – to predict the future. Rumors abounded of Rivaini sailors smelling storms days before the clouds began to form. Perhaps a current of magical power ran through all their blood. Whatever the case, Isabela was restless with inexplicable excitement.

"You noticed?" The Inquisitor glanced back, not bothering to disguise her smile.

"Who wouldn't? Just look at her." The pirate tossed her head back, indicating the woman walking behind her.

The response puzzled Trevelyan until she followed the gesture and spied Cassandra just past the sailor. The Seeker did indeed look intriguingly radiant. Perhaps the thrill of nearing their destination had enlivened her as well? The Nevarran's gaze was unfocused in the distance, lost in some deeper musing and undoubtedly clueless to the tiny curl of pleasure on her lips. _She must have slept well too._ Eve savored the peaceful and pleased expression, adding it to the growing catalogue of her memory.

"Lady Pent-Ghast?" Merrill was still confused from yesterday's conversation. Varric and Isabela both laughed. While the addressed woman sighed, she didn't actually appear irritated. Who, after all, could ever be upset by Merrill?

"Cassandra will do. Or if you prefer, 'Seeker' works as well." Her hazel eyes came reluctantly back to focus on the present, catching Eve's gaze in the process. Ordinarily the Inquisitor would yank her eyes back to the front, hoping to pretend she hadn't been caught staring once again. Instead she met the Seeker's eyes long enough to see the nearly imperceptible nod of greeting directed at her. Not so blatant as a wink, more intimate than a word.

"Oh, right. Seeker, then, is it true you defeated a dozen dragons at once?" Merrill resumed her point of conversation.

"Varric!" Cassandra sharply rebuked the dwarf at the back of their procession.

"What? I told her how you became the Hero of Orlais. It's a very impressive story, Seeker," Varric defended, adding under his breath, "Especially when I tell it."

"Five dragons, liar. And I had the support of an entire mage circle," The Seeker sternly corrected, "And as I know Varric's style, I will also point out I was not drunk or naked, there were no babies to rescue nor any fainting damsels."

"Not so," Leliana's delicate objection was far too pleased, "Divine Beatrix herself nearly passed out in the tower of the Grand Cathedral."

"An exaggeration, I assure you," Cassandra shook her head, "Besides, how would you know?"

"Silly woman, it was all the talk of Orlais! You think Varric can embellish a tale? You should have heard what the dowagers and courtesans invented!" The bard was perhaps the only woman that Eve had ever heard giggle with such coy dignity.

"I do not need to hear the opinions of whores." The Seeker's pride dismissed such a thought.

"You should, they spread much further than fact." Varric pointed out. Whores, drunks and criminals might not be as powerful in Orlais' Game but (as the Red Jennies had proven) they were just as useful.

"Everything spreads more with whores." Cassandra scoffed.

"Give it a rest, would you?" Isabela barked back, more irritation than usual in her tone.

"C'mon, Rivaini, she wasn't talking about you specifically -," Varric attempted diplomacy.

"Was I not?" The Nevarran might have tried to sound ingenuous but there was too much humor at the edge of her voice.

"I mean shut up!" Isabela shouted, ignoring anything they had to say as she shouldered past Eve. In the silence following her command faint sound echoed towards them. Small and distant, little better than the sound of needles dropping on stone but it was without a doubt the din of battle. The Rivain sailor whispered a piqued oath and began to jog faster ahead, forcing the others to follow at her pace.

The closer they drew to the noise the clearer it became; metallic clashes of weaponry and armor, inhuman roars and screeches of pain. Each successive note of discord added speed to Isabela's feet. The corridor grew wider, vomiting out into a massive chamber. The natural cavern fell away at their feet into plunging stairs before rising in the distance to a plateau further on. From this far all they could see were figures clashing on the flat elevation; a swarm of angered beasts moving without order or strategy, only malevolent purpose.

"Go down, you blight bastard!" the shouted oath was followed by a body being thrown clean off the edge of the plateau cliff.

"Hawke." Isabela didn't even have the words for a curse. Dropping her supply pack she bolted from their company. The rogue sailed down the edge of the stairs, rolled at the ground and was up and running before the others managed to move.

"Flaming ass! How does she run that fast?" Eve leapt down the stairs, leading what would now be the backup charge.

"She has a lot of practice!" Varric's laughing reply shouted back.

The party followed as best they could but Isabela wore no armor and was moving like an Archdemon's talon had pinched her. Halfway up the plateau she hurled a flask overhead, the shattering glass releasing smoke that billowed up and overwhelmed the entire surface. Dashing into the fog the pirate vanished.

"You're mine now!" the Rivaini's delighted battle cry preceded a cacophony of screams punctuated with visceral sucking sounds. The smoke wafted and curled to show the violence of the storm within.

"Merrill! Light it up!" Eve yelled, halfway up the stairs to the flat battleground. She didn't dare take her eyes from the impenetrable fog, desperately trying to identify the figures of ally versus enemy. Lightning from behind her illuminated the cavern, creating flashes of brilliance and outlining shadows in the haze. The misshapen horde was clearly darkspawn and Isabela had already cut their numbers by better than half. She darted in and out of vision, disappearing from view before leaping to bury both blades in another unsuspecting back. Hawke was fending off multiple attackers, too distracted to question any aid. Twelve enemies, nine, five, two . . .

"Had enough? Yeah, not so tough now, are you?" Isabela's crouched silhouette gracefully rose erect as the bomb's effect drifted away to reveal victory. The cloud fully parted as the rest of the Inquisition team reached the first corpses. The carnage was almost as breathtaking as the sight of Hawke herself, standing alive and well at the edge of the plateau. The Champion waved her daggers to clear the last smoke from her vision, squinting to find blurred details.

"Isabela?" Hawke asked in wonder, taking a few tentative steps forward. After a week alone in the Deep Roads couldn't a mind begin to play tricks?

"You damned, ass-headed fool!" Isabela shouted back, clearly not on the same emotional page. Eve glanced at Varric, worried by the pirate's harsh response. The dwarf just smiled reassuringly to her, nodding that everything was normal.

"I can't believe it's you!" Hawke rushed forward, convinced that the apparition was no trick.

"What were you thinking?!" Isabela stalked closer, anger in every stamping footstep. Apparently they weren't even having the same conversation. Face to face, wonder confronted fear; delight met fury between them.

"What are you doing here?" Both women demanded of each other in unison.

Isabela made a noise of irritation. Rather than answering her hand snaked out, catching the edge of Hawke's curaiss and dragging her into an enraged, devouring kiss. Now they were communicating.

"Is that normal?" Cassandra frowned at the confusing display.

"For them." Varric nodded, looking on with fraternal pride. Not even his narrative ability could explain the enigma of Hawke and Isabela's relationship. The embrace escalated, a surprised curse accompanying a sudden loss of balance. The twined lovers still didn't separate even after hitting the ground, Isabela easily gaining the upper hand and exploiting her dominance.

"They must have been apart for quite some time." Leliana observed as neutrally as possible.

"Three months, 22 days," Merrill helpfully volunteered, surprised when so many eyes turned to her, "What? Isabela keeps track, you can just ask her if you think I'm wrong. Oooh, you didn't want the actual answer, did you?"

"That's got to be some kind of record for Rivaini." Varric whistled, impressed.

"It would seem she'd determined to receive her prize now." Leliana noted as a particularly carnal gasp echoed off the cavern walls.

"By the Maker, if she strips a single piece of clothing I will charge that whore over the edge of the cliff." Cassandra growled. The threat carried to the lovers and Hawke managed to free herself from Isabela's consuming kiss just enough to speak.

"You brought Aveline?" the Champion wondered in confusion. There had only been one other person who used that insult with so much affectionate disdain.

"No, sweet thing. Man Hands was too busy playing house to come this time. I found a nut-crusher that makes the Big Girl's ball busting look like a sleepover tickle fight." Isabela corrected.

"Cassandra." Hawke instantly understood.

"Aw, see that, Seeker? You made an impression." Varric slapped the warrior on the shoulder, a blow that would've sent any lesser woman reeling. Cassandra merely looked down at him with the condescending eyebrow that promised she would not tolerate much more. From anyone.

"Relax, pearl clutcher," Isabela climbed to her feet and helped Hawke up as well, "She has to be in better shape than this for what I have in mind."

"Inquisitor, Seeker, Sister Nightingale." The Champion nodded to each of them respectfully before turning to her friends, scooping up Merrill in a delighted hug that squeezed a squeal out of the mage. Varric got similar treatment, except in this case it was Hawke that squeaked as the air was crushed from her lungs.

"Did you find Bethany?" Merrill was the first to ask the most obvious question, the one that would've been answered by seeing the younger woman at her sister's side. She wasn't there, however, so the company knew most of the answer before they even saw the hint of frustration in Hawke's eyes.

"Not yet," she sighed, running a hand through her short hair in irritated admission, "But I'm close. Very close. I can find out where they're going."

"You know where they're headed?" Leliana's face was a mask but her voice trembled with a note of suspense, "Where? How did you find out?"

"It's a bit of a story. I'm camped at the Thaig just beyond. Come along and I'll explain. Or try to. Or. . .yeah, you'd better just come." Hawke shook her head and turned to show them the way. Her hand instinctively reached towards Isabela as she moved past and the pirate didn't hesitate to meet her halfway. Eve walked behind the reunited rogues, watching them steal glances at each other; Isabela with a cocky, self-satisfied smirk, Hawke a wide, shit-eating grin.

"You're real, right? Not a desire demon?" The Champion tugged the sailor closer, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked.

"Don't be foolish, sweet thing," Isabela taunted back, her hand reaching to lay across her lover's shoulder and tease the hair at her collar, "You know I'm both."

* * *

><p><em>Everyone's encouraging reviews and feedback have been very helpful. Thank you all for being so generous. I'm greedy enough to ask that you not stop.<em>


	14. Romance and Blasphemy

Ortan Thaig was built over a river. It was odd to hear the rush of fresh water echoing so far below the earth. Logically, Eve knew that even the dwarves couldn't survive without water and so it made sense their settlements and cities would be well supplied; but after days of tramping through ruins, inhaling stone dust 'til her nostrils bled, she'd begun to imagine there was nothing but barren road beneath the earth.

The abandoned thaig still had vestiges of buildings, ghosts of the stable security its people had once known. In the center, in what might have been the town square of a surface city, a large tent stood sentinel near the remnants of smoldering coals. Isabela headed for the shelter, muttering something about gravel in her bodice. Merrill gravitated to the guttering campfire, a flick of her fingers bringing the flames to life and filling the plaza with light.

"Why set up a camp? I thought you would stay on the move tracking the wardens." Eve latched onto the thought that had been bothering her since seeing the signs of habitation. After so many weeks on the trail of her kidnapped sister, why would the Champion stop now?

"I can't. They used the river to cover their tracks. I've been trying for the last day to find the direction they went but even if I caught their trail I can't leave yet." Hawke sighed, tossing her sheathed weapons to one side, clearly familiar enough with the area to feel safe.

"Why?" Cassandra asked the second most obvious question of the day.

"Hawke, sweetness," Isabela interrupted the coming reply by emerging from the tent, "You know I love surprises, but why is there a naked woman in your bedroll?"

"She's not naked, 'Bela," the Champion felt that detail more important than the question, "And relax. She's my cousin."

"Your cousin? The Hero of Ferelden is your cousin?!" The pirate's mild jealousy transformed to disbelief.

"Yes, she – wait!" Hawke was barely keeping up with the shifting topics, "How do you know who she is?"

"How does Rivaini know anyone?" Varric contributed rhetorically, enjoying the spectacle of history and present colliding.

"Of course. A family affair. Looking to complete the collection, were you?" The Champion's rueful smile was devoid of jealousy; truthfully, she didn't even look surprised. After ten years it seemed there was nothing she didn't expect. Isabela's attempt at an apologetic expression was far too smug as she covered the space to her lover in two steps. A graceful finger traced the line of Hawke's jaw.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, she was far more interested in the songbird," Isabela crooned soothingly before a new thought struck her, "Come to think of it, so was I at the time. Are you still a biter, Leliana?"

Everyone turned to look for the bard's reaction but she was gone. She'd vanished almost as soon as the conversation began, only the fluttering tent flap indicating her path. The Hero of Ferelden lay within – apparently at least partially clothed – and while Eve was loathe to interrupt Leliana's reunion, the deepening mysteries had to be solved. Walking towards the shelter Trevelyan felt Cassandra fall into step with her, silently supporting the decision.

Pushing the flap open revealed a less-than-heartwarming scene. A knot of worry tightened in the Inquisitor's throat as she took in the pale and unconscious mage spread on the floor. Leliana knelt beside her, one hand reverentially poised just above touching the skin of her face. The redhead was at war, dueling instincts of fear and longing held her fingers paralyzed. Eve didn't even dare breathe, lest her intrusion tip the battle in the wrong direction. As she grew dangerously close to passing out, there was finally surrender; Leliana brushed the Hero's cheek with the barest stroke.

"I found her yesterday," Hawke spoke very quietly from behind the Inquisitor, "The wardens must have beat her for hours. Probably would've killed anyone else but the stubborn thing was still fighting to stay conscious when I got here."

"Why didn't she fight back? A pack of rebel wardens, that's nothing for a mage of her caliber." Cassandra voiced the same confusion Eve felt. Neither of them had ever met the Hero of Ferelden but they knew the legends. The Grey Warden that defeated Urthemiel? Not to mention Flemeth as a dragon. What threat could a desperate and injured pack of rebel wardens possibly present?

"They had hostages," Leliana spoke, voice oddly powerful in the mournful hush, "She would not raise a single spell so long as they could threaten harm to innocents."

"That's why they took Bethany," Hawke added, neither sad nor angry at such a turn of fate, "They knew we're blood. Even if Solona could sacrifice others, she wouldn't let anyone hurt her family."

"Did she," the spymaster cleared her throat, forcing the tremble of emotion out of her voice, "Did she say anything?"

"She said I couldn't follow the wardens. I think 'must not' were the words. Then she passed out and hasn't woken up since." The Champion's summary skirted irritation.

"A flare for drama does run in the family." Leliana's expression was soft as she looked down at the unconscious mage. Eve had noticed before that a warm light flooded the redhead's eyes whenever the subject of her lover came up in conversation, now it seemed to have enveloped her entire being.

There were a hundred questions lining up behind the Inquisitor's lips. Was this what Leliana had suspected all along? Why was the Hero here in the Deep Roads of Ferelden? What were the wardens after? Did they get what they wanted by beating the Warden-Commander senseless? If so, why keep Bethany or the other hostages? Why would Solona tell them _not_ to follow the rebels?

"I think we must wait for the Hero to wake." The Inquisitor decided, turning to lead Cassandra and Hawke both out of the tent. She paused to seal the flap, granting the solemn reunion a touch of privacy. That was the only reason she caught a glimpse of Leliana pushing off her cowl and settling beside her Hero.

* * *

><p>"Varric, have you ever set a serial down here?" Eve addressed her friend across the fire. The dwarf was rubbing Bianca down with wood polish, a gesture so tender it was nearly inappropriate to watch.<p>

"In the Deep Roads? I'd sooner dip my dick in ink and scribble stories on a chantry wall." Varric abhorred the very thought.

"Vivid." Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The Inquisitor nodded, expecting such an answer. There couldn't be a less romantic setting in all of Thedas than the Deep Roads. She had trouble imagining even the ancient dwarves getting amorous in the dark atmosphere, let alone surfacers. Yet, the stone ruins clearly created _some _sort of tender ambiance; Leliana continued to hold her devoted vigil in the tent behind them and Isabela had stolen Hawke away ages ago.

_"__Maker's bursting balls!" _

The invocation, while clearly not divine, was the nearest thing to prayer any of them could imagine from Isabela. It wasn't the first exclamation to echo off the abandoned buildings around them but the volume and vulgarity had been steadily increasing. The Inquisitor – who'd had the misfortune of once overhearing Bull and Dorian – rather than being disturbed by the performance, found herself growing impressed. The screaming alone took formidable stamina.

_"__Holy tits and taint – yes!"_

"Is she always so loud?" Cassandra wasn't nearly as accepting as Inquisitor Trevelyan. Each curse and cry made the Seeker wince like a personal wound.

"Are you kidding? This is mild. You should've been there when we were gathering ingredients on Sundermount. These two slipped away to 'explore' and they probably were heard clear down in the elf camp." Varric chuckled as he recalled the afternoon from years before.

"Oh, was that the time they were in the graveyard?" Merrill found the string of shared memory.

"That's the one, Daisy. They just didn't know it at the time. There's a reason the spot they found was so private and peaceful, not even spiders go near elven burial grounds," the dwarf continued, settling into his natural rhythm, "And Rivaini, well, she can blaspheme louder and longer than anyone I've ever met. That sort of skill demands respect. And attention."

"Oh, when the screaming started! It was terrifying!" Merrill shuddered as if she were reliving that sunny but chilled afternoon.

_"__Ah! Andraste's tongue, don't stop!"_

Varric waited to be sure the interruption was complete before resuming:

"We hauled our asses up there, bursting into the ruins all set to take on a dragon because there wasn't much else that could make that much noise. Found these two damn rogues both in their smalls ripping the shit out of a legion of skeletons. Isabela had literally raised the dead."

"Aveline wouldn't let me see," Merrill complained, "She said if they needed help it wouldn't be the skeletons screaming and dragged me away."

"The whole thing proved what I'd suspected all along." Varric settled towards the punchline of his story.

"That the pirate is a blasphemous whore?" Cassandra scowled as yet another loud oath scythed through the air.

"That words have power, Seeker. They're a magic all their own." The dwarf grinned.

_"__Shit! Hawke! Maker-fucker!"_

"If words like that have magic," Cassandra fixed Varric with a glare firm enough to ignite his blood even without lyrium, "Then that woman has been an abomination all along."

* * *

><p>Leliana had tuned out the animalistic exclamations as well as the noise of arguments from outside the tent. Within the secure confines of the canvas shelter all that existed was her and her Hero. Solona was pale, her skin ashen and marred with cuts and bruises. Hawke had clearly done what she could to heal the mage but there were limits to non-magical medicine. Merrill had done her best with the healing spells she knew but ultimately the warden would have to knit from within.<p>

It had been so long since the bard had seen her love and yet now that she was in her presence the time all seemed to fall away. They might as well have been back at the camp in Ferelden, listening to Oghren tease Morrigan while Zevram flirted with Alistair. It was ironic, unfair even, that the bizarre needs of saving the world had thrown them together but then likewise ripped them apart. Leliana brushed a few strands of hair from Solona's face, marveling that it hadn't changed in all their years together. Perhaps it was part of being a warden, this exemption from the ravages of time?

_It is the peace within her._ The bard admitted to herself. She seldom pondered her own reflection, the needs of the Chantry and Inquisition had taken her far from the vanity of her youth. Yet she knew there were undoubtedly hints of lines at her eyes and brow, signs where duty and command had left their mark. The weight of decisions could be traced in the smallest creases on her face. The only lines she could find on Solona were near her lips; too much laughter.

"A jest for every insult, yes?" Leliana murmured, touching the neutral mouth and easily envisioning her smile.

This was hardly the way she'd wanted to be reunited. In moments of selfish indulgence she'd imagined a triumphal entry to Val Royeaux, the ceremony at the Grand Cathedral anointing her Divine; the Hero of Ferelden would arrive in a hail of glory and surprise, taking her rightful place beside her love. Or perhaps they would have met in secret somewhere before? Solona might have been the private escort of the Divine, the ultimate line of protection granted intimacies no one else could imagine.

Even when her imagining turned dark and fear gripped the bard, as it often did on sleepless nights, she never thought this would be the place they would find each other once more. In the deepest recesses of her mind she battled the idea that Solona could die while away on her quest, she'd never thought it would bring them together again. Certainly not like this. Leliana rested the back of her fingers against a cold cheek, wondering how much magic it took to defy death.

The spymaster found her mind drawn back to her conversation with Isabela, the absolute and adamant conviction of the sailor's words. The pirate believed completely not only in Hawke but in the fact that they would be together again. Leliana hadn't realized it at the time but she'd heard the echoes of her own faith. Her trust in the Maker, Andraste and the Chantry itself might tremble but ultimately nothing could shake her belief in the Hero of Ferelden. Solona would survive. Leliana knew this because she knew, with every sinew of her body and breath in her chest, that they would be together.

"You certainly have not made it easy," Leliana sighed, taking the Hero's hand in her own, "But I told you there was nowhere I'd rather be than at your side. Are you so determined to make me prove it?"

* * *

><p>"Odd that Hawke doesn't make a sound." Eve muttered after yet another volley of Rivaini-accented cursing. Granted, it would be hard to be heard over Isabela's enthusiastic volume but there would usually be at least a hint of reciprocating noise. There were two possible explanations for the fact that they were continually hearing only one voice. One reason would be that there was a severe imbalance in the relationship; the Inquisitor, believing she'd gotten a fairly accurate read on the rakish Champion, doubted that to be the case. The other possible excuse was simply more puzzling.<p>

"She does." Merrill corrected, her arms wrapped around her knees as if she'd turned the sensual sounds into a lullaby.

"You can hear her, Daisy?" Varric questioned with a trace of doubt but mostly gentle curiosity. Perhaps this had been a mystery amongst the Champion's companions for some time?

"She's very quiet. Shems wouldn't be able to hear without being close. It's really only whispers." Merrill explained, downplaying her knowledge.

"What does she say?" Eve knew that she shouldn't ask such things. She'd heard the gentle affection in Merrill's tone though, it was coupled with admiration. The secret couldn't be that shameful. They were all too intrigued now to be denied.

"Mostly it's just Isabela's name," the mage responded, eyes as far away as the attention of her ears, "The only other thing Hawke ever says is 'I love you.' She says that quite a lot."

The revelation left the companions in silence. The oaths, curses and blasphemy had been public for any audience. Merrill's disclosure was more intimate than anything Eve had expected and she dropped her eyes to the ground, angry that she'd let her curiosity intrude on something so profound.

"You know Hawke hates water?" Varric mused in the quiet, "Can't stand the ocean. Probably hates it as much as Isabela hates caves. But she went to sea with her after Kirkwall. Anything to stay together I suppose."

"And Isabela has been crawling through tunnels under tons of crushing rock for the same reason." Eve carried the thought further, understanding the unspoken sacrifices and victories. What wouldn't they do for each other?

_"__Andraste suck me – you're mine now!"_

Cassandra let out a low growl beneath her breath and jerked to her feet, trudging away from the campfire. The contrast of devoted love with its lewd expression was a lot to handle for anyone, least of all a devoted romantic like the Seeker. Eve rose and followed the offended warrior, envious of the sincerity in those blasphemous screams.

* * *

><p>Leliana hummed an old Orlesian song, one she'd sung to the Hero long ago around the night fire. She wiped the cold sweat off the warden's brow before moving to the next verse. It was a long song. The verses in all their variations could take as long as 3 hours to sing. A peaceful way to pass the time. Her own eyes were growing heavy, the release of fears had uncoiled tension from her muscles and it felt as though no strength was left in her body.<p>

The bards sapphire eyes had almost closed when she saw the twitch of Solona's lids. She leaned closer. The Heros' eyes fluttered, lashes tickled by breath near her face. In a sudden burst of color the mage's eyes flew open, staring in startled surprise at her environment. Then she settled her gaze on Leliana's face; blinking once, then twice, the Hero gradually let her lids fall shut once more.

"There weren't that many of them." Solona muttered, her voice a weak rasp but buoyed by sarcasm.

"What?" Leliana squeezed her love's hand tight, stroking her face to call her back to reality. Her fingers ached to clutch the woman, to shake her awake and pull her close. The sheer discipline of keeping her touch delicate made her hands tremble.

"I can't be dead. There weren't that many." The mage clarified, still not opening her eyes. The spymaster, ignoring the burn of tears behind her eyes, couldn't fight the smile spreading across her lips. Only the Hero of Ferelden would be trying to argue with the afterlife.

"You aren't dead, Solona. Did you imagine the Maker's bosom to be so cold and dark?" Leliana softly mocked, enjoying the hesitant revelation of color that was her lover's eyes reopening in confusion.

"No. But I hardly expected to end up there," the Hero admitted, "I renounced that hope several times by praying for your bosom instead."

"You and your words." The redhead smirked, allowing the weaker woman's arms to wrap around her shoulders and pull her down for a kiss. The barest brush of soft warmth against her mouth nearly took her breath away and Solona jerked back in surprise.

"Maker- you're real! I'm alive, aren't I?" the Hero demanded, shock enlivening her every thought.

"Yes, you are. Despite your best efforts to the contrary." Leliana smiled and pressed close once more, resuming the tender assurance of their joint reality. It had been far too long since either had felt the thrill and promise of each other's touch. Time could be lost in a kiss in so many ways and right now both women surrendered themselves to the embrace, hoping to erase the years of absence and longing.

_"__Sacrifical sodomy goats!" _Isabela's voice shattered the privacy of their moment. Leliana couldn't help herself laughing as Solona pulled back in shock.

"You brought Isabela? Seriously? I know it was fun, Leliana, but I didn't think you were _that_ eager to recreate the experience!" the Hero groaned, her head thumping back to the floor.

"Don't worry, my love. This time I have no intentions of sharing." The wicked glint of the bard's crystalline eyes filled Solona's entire view before disappearing completely.

* * *

><p>Inquisitor Trevelyan found Cassandra at the lower stairs of the thaig, standing at the bank of the river and watching the rushing water. The Seeker's back was turned to her, shoulders squared in military tension and arms crossed as if to defend against attack. Eve deliberately stepped loudly down the final stairs; surprising the other woman when she was in such a mood could be deadly. Cassandra didn't turn at the noise. She didn't even acknowledge her fellow warrior when she approached and stood alongside her, just continued glaring at the water.<p>

"Are they bothering you?" Eve gently guided words into the tense silence, "If they're making too much noise I can make them stop."

"No. They are distracting," Cassandra admitted but without moving her gaze, "But it is not bothersome. I have heard worse."

"Really?" Trevelyan couldn't stop the surprised question from bursting out. She'd been in brothels and barracks and never heard anything that approached the noises of Isabela's lovemaking.

"Perhaps not worse," The Seeker amended herself with a yielding tilt of her head, "But certainly they are nothing new."

"Then what is troubling you?" Eve prodded, knowing her friend would not have abruptly left their company without good reason. Cassandra never fled others, only her own thoughts.

"The passion they share is most . . .confusing," the Nevarran gradually unwound the words of her explanation, "The intensity of their bond overwhelms everything else in their path. The pirate is a whore and the Champion a mercenary yet both have risen to the highest ideals of romance for each other. They have endured so much, risked, sacrificed; Varric himself couldn't capture their story. I -," Cassandra's eyes were like bruises with sudden emotion, "In my entire life I do not know that I have felt even a fraction of such affection."

Eve's chest felt like she'd been crushed by a swinging mace. Her lungs actually ached as she struggled for a breath. Of all the conversations she might have considered, this was not in her realm of imagination. The Inquisitor paced a few feet away, rallying her thoughts.

"But you've been in love before." She pointed out, not looking at the Seeker as she awaited the answer.

"I was with a man I loved. I am not so sure it is the same." Cassandra corrected.

"How is it different?" Eve turned and leaned against a wall, granting them both a measure of privacy in the intimacy of their subject. She knew the Seeker was a romantic, she'd never thought to find out her deeper past. The very idea of Cassandra being with someone else . . . A flare of jealousy spiked in her cheeks at the thought of this man who'd been so secret but favored.

"It simply was. We were allies, united to defend the chantry. We had adventures but our ultimate bond was our common goal. After seeing those two?" Cassandra nodded vaguely in the direction of the noisome indulgences, "They matter more to each other than any cause. It takes someone very special to have such an epic romance."

Eve's mind was spinning a million directions at once yet unified in wonder at this supernatural moment. The Maker himself had reached down and granted her a once in a lifetime chance. Sheer elation and terror wrapped around her heart as she begged everything holy that she not bugger it up.

"And you don't think someone could find you that special?" She eased the question out like a foot on fragile ice.

"Perhaps I did before. Leliana's stories of herself and her Hero; it was romantic but noble. Their love seemed reasonable, real. Such a relationship did indeed seem possible. But Hawke and Isabela – they lie closer to a form of lunacy, so much harder to imagine," Cassandra's arms dropped to her sides, shoulders surrendering though her fists still clenched, "To watch love such as that in action? It is somewhere between magic and a miracle."

Eve swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat and the words struggling with it. The bald simplicity of the Seeker's summation, her acceptance of something unreachable; it was all the more heartbreaking that she spoke without even a hint of sadness. It was the sheer humor of the gods that Isabela – whom Cassandra clearly felt her opposite on every level – was the one to bring all these emotions to light.

"Suppose someone did feel that way about you. Would you want to know?" Eve straightened off the wall into a military stance, instinctively bracing for injury.

"Of course. But anyone can utter words of devotion," Cassandra shrugged, "Hardly meaningful without action. It is good to be told but even more: I'd need to _see._"

"Fair enough," Eve licked her lips, mind narrowing down its million thoughts to only a few hundred and speeding for the right words, "So, they'd have to stick by you; always have your back no matter the danger?"

"That would be an obvious start." The Seeker agreed, the solemnity leaving her tone as she entertained Eve's rhetorical musing.

"You're more than a warrior, you're a Seeker of Truth. That's all about virtue and devotion. They'd have to be supportive and loyal, willing to trust you and help even when they don't understand everything that's happening." The words were flowing more freely now, a floodgate opened and she had only to keep from vomiting out the internal deluge.

"I suppose." Cassandra nodded, agreeing to a thought she'd clearly not considered.

"Naturally, they couldn't be intimidated by your armor, temper or honesty." Eve thought of the rage she'd seen unleashed in practice and battle, the passionate anger that gripped the woman when truth was at stake. She'd learned her fellow warrior demanded respect without craving surrender.

"I am more than those things." The Seeker let a small growl of irritation roll in her throat. How easy it was for people to only see the surface of the jaded fighter. They saw the armor and scars, the power and rank; they lost sight entirely of the woman beneath. Not that Cassandra let just anyone see her anyway.

"They would want to be everything you need. It wouldn't be enough to just be better," The Inquisitor began taking quiet steps closer to the warrior, "They'd want to be the best version of themselves because of you."

"You see why it seems so unlikely?" Cassandra shook her head, an ironic chuckle challenging the workings of fate. Could a woman of faith really be so ignorant of miracles?

"The right person would be happy to be your friend because it's what you want. Even when they want to be so much more." Eve barely had to whisper, close enough that the words tickled the Seeker's hair. Cassandra turned with start, surprised by the sudden proximity of the other woman.

"I -," the Seeker clearly didn't know her exact objection, face a picture of confusion.

"I can be more, Cassandra. Let me show you." With a final surge of adrenaline and courage Eve tilted in to press the Seeker's mouth in a kiss. The brush of contact was the faintest touch, a fleeting graze that was almost a whisper of breath as much as the caress of lips. Inquisitor Trevelyan was pulling back in nearly the same moment she'd leaned in. She fought the urge to taste her lips and savor the flavor of the kiss. She held perfectly still, waiting in paralysis for the consequences of her boldness.

"Evely-," Cassandra started to speak but Eve winced and pressed a silencing hand to her mouth.

"Please," the Inquisitor begged, "I only hear that name when I'm in trouble. Am I in trouble?"

The reality was that she might be. She'd laid her cards on the table and in both Wicked Grace and life that was no promise of victory. She held her breath, trying to read every flicker of thought and emotion in the bottomless depths of the Seeker's eyes. The crease of her brow was full of debate, her body held taut like she were balancing on the edge of a cliff. The Seeker reached up and pried the hand away from her mouth.

"In trouble? As long as I have known you, Inquisitor, you have been nothing else," Cassandra's reproachful expression abruptly softened, lacing her fingers with Eve's hand, "Show me again."

The Inquisitor wondered if she'd held her breath all this time because the room began to waver and spin, everything at the edges of her vision blurring as the Seeker moved close enough to feel every inch of her. The touch of lips sent a rush of blood through her entire body, instinctively curling every muscle until she'd wrapped the Seeker in an embrace tight enough to mold two armors into one. Fingers threading into her hair promised there would be no interruptions, no uncertain escapes or confused objections. Cassandra's kiss was flooded with words; an exchange of emotion and need neither had dared confess.

Eve clung desperately to the shreds of rational thought as her senses ran rampant; all she could manage as a coherent reaction was the fact that it was completely different from anything she'd ever felt. This bliss, with the taste and smell and touch of the Seeker overwhelming her but full of permission to drown beneath it all, this was greater than magic or miracle. She didn't know a word for it other than _Cassandra._

* * *

><p><em>Truly hope this chapter was the romantic culmination everyone was expecting. Three completely unique relationships but with so many similarities I dread them being repetitive. Please review!<em>


	15. Of Dreams and Waking

_Just a warning: this chapter is long on emotion but short on plot. Needed some time to get into everyone's heads before moving on._

* * *

><p>The youngest noble of House Trevelyan had learned much from her siblings. She'd watched her sisters flirt with soldiers before marrying well-born boys. Her brothers seduced farm girls, married ladies and screwed the maids. Her own father had sired a legion of half-elven bastards and her mother's absolute devotion to politics and religion was all that kept their house from crumbling. All in all, Eve had decided at a very young age to not be bothered by expectations or public opinion. She'd kissed her first stable boy at 12, slept with a serving girl by 14 and merrily tallied up enough bedpost notches in the following decade to shame her family three generations forward and back.<p>

During this studiously pursued avocation she arrived at the private conclusion that no two kisses were the same. Each varied depending on the sharers, the mood, the time of day and even the menu for dinner. The hungry, open mouthed type were the trademark of rushed indulgence; sloppy and brutal in the hurry to find release before someone heard noises from the cupboard. Delicate, genteel pecks were the province of bored nobles looking for a diversion with much the same ennui as they entertained musicians. Occasionally there would be a lady with genuine fervor, then the taste of powder and silk would linger on her tongue for hours. No matter the man or his touch, she always needed a drink after to get rid of the flavor of cologne.

This is all to emphasize the enormity of the Inquisitor's realization that with the first touch of Cassandra's lips, every other memory of a kiss was shattered from her mind. The demure brushes of contact grew longer, learning the rhythm and feel until not just their mouths but their breath had joined as one. Eve hated clichés like _made for each other_ but the phrase swelled up as a hum in her throat, marveling that no one else had ever felt so right. Cassandra's plush lips mirrored her every move, trading each lingering caress with the same prescience that defined their sparring. The Seeker read her mind; except since she wasn't able to form a coherent thought it was actually the tremors of her body that the warrior answered.

Eve could feel the world spinning as she grew breathless, lungs burning but too stubborn to draw away from a mouth more luxurious than Orlesian wine. Cassandra must have felt the shortness of her breath, mournfully separating from her lips as far as words demanded.

"Inquisitor . . ." the whispered title fell against Eve's fevered skin, eliciting a violent shudder.

"Seeker." Trevelyan countered, smirking with her eyes still shut. At this close she could feel the answering curl of Cassandra's lips. If the other woman wanted her attention she was going to have to do better than that.

"Eve." The Nevarran rectified her address, the rawness of her voice contradicting the control of her words.

"That's more like it." The Inquisitor smiled and opened her eyes. The world was full of hazel and black, the Seeker's gaze dark with ill suppressed desire. Eve felt another shudder rip down her spine at the sight, this time pouring heat through her blood and pooling into an ache of need. Her fists reflexively clenched into Cassandra's belt, fighting for the last shreds of control.

"Are you alright?" The raven-haired beauty's face filled with concern. Doubts suddenly ransacked her features, fear blooming into her eyes. Had she read the situation incorrectly? Had she responded wrong? Eve raised one hand, brushing her fingers adoringly over the close, reddened lips. Her fingertip traced up the scar on Cassandra's cheek with a caress as delicate as the kiss she longed to place against the mark. The Seeker's misgivings vanished, eyes tender once more as she tilted into the touch.

"It's so damn corny." Eve groaned, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What is that?" The Nevarran inquired. The Inquisitor licked her lips, bracing for words she'd never imagined saying, not even as a lie to get into someone's bed.

"You make me go weak, Cassandra," she admitted, leaning her forehead to rest against the other woman's, too embarrassed to show her eyes, "I feel like a bloody Orlesian."

"It must be something in the air." The Seeker murmured, making Trevelyan look up in surprise. The coy smile was tugging back onto Cassandra's lips as she gently pushed the Inquisitor to walk backward. The heat of lust hadn't entirely left those hazel eyes but they shimmered with the gentler warmth of affection, a reward of adoration for Eve's chagrinned sincerity.

"You too?" Eve wondered as she saw a shy nod of confirmation. _She kissed me. I kissed her, she kissed me, WE kissed!_ Her brain might as well have been practicing her conjugation of Antivan pronouns; she couldn't stop repeating the words. The abrupt contact of her back against stone halted all the spinning thoughts.

"Now it shouldn't matter." Cassandra stepped in close, pressing her to the wall. The delicate arch of her brow was a last wordless endearment as she leaned in to recapture the Inquisitor's stunned mouth.

* * *

><p>Isabela always knew she was fully satisfied when she could no longer control the muscles in her legs. The quivering limbs gave out beneath her and she gracefully collapsed beside Hawke – a consideration she didn't make for most lovers. The bed roll was thin and the night air raised goose flesh over the expanse of her heated skin. It wasn't the warm salt breeze she might have wished nor the silk bed covers that had last enveloped them both but it was Hawke's body pressed close to her side; that was really all she needed. Maker's balls, they'd enjoyed enough athletics in the vermin infested sheets of the Hanged man; the rocky soil of the Deep Roads had to be more hygienic than that.<p>

"You know, 'Bela, it's not that my ego doesn't enjoy the flattery but weren't you exaggerating a bit?" The Champion inquired, shifting to drape an arm over the sailor and draw her close.

"They were going to listen either way; I just decided to give them a show." The pirate smiled, throat too worn out for anything more than a raw chuckle. Hawke's gentle purr of laughter tickled her hair.

The touch of skin against her side and tangling with her legs spread a contented warmth through the length of Isabela's body. _I'm going soft. _She turned her face into the balled up clothing that served as a pillow, stifling a happy sigh that refused to be contained. Hawke didn't have to hear the sound; she felt it beneath her fingertips, idly tracing designs with one hand over the bronze skin of her lover's back. Isabela's lips curled into a smile, mentally following the journey of the fingers over her flesh as they blazed a trail of tingling chills.

"It's the same pattern, isn't it?" she finally tilted her face to see Hawke. Marian's eyes opened in surprise, her fingers momentarily frozen. Isabela lifted her head and brushed her lips across the startled Champion's, encouraging her to resume. Hawke hesitated briefly, trying to get a read on the situation and any game or tricks her beloved pirate might be playing. Unable to find malicious intent, she slowly continued the teasing movement of her fingers.

"Same as what?" Hawke innocently rose up on one elbow, better able to observe the effect of her touch on the fevered skin.

"In camp. You always dig that pattern into the dirt with your fingers. If you think of my back as a filthy soil canvas, we might have to change our understanding." The pirate teased. She thought about rolling to one side and pulling Hawke even closer, physically illustrating their 'understanding' to date and what she risked losing. Unfortunately, she was too damned comfortable and there was something almost hypnotic about the grazing touch dancing over her shoulders and spine.

Instead of answering Hawke leaned down and captured Isabela's lips once more, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth; the sheer silken pleasure of every caress without the burning demands of need and desire fueling their taste. Gradually her hand traced up Isabela's neck, under her ear, tickling beneath her jaw as one finger found its way to her necklace. A gentle nudge was all it took to spur the pirate onto her side, allowing closer contact and fuller access. Marian's hand tangled around the dangling pendants of Isabela's necklace, clenching the ornamental disks and using them to keep her pirate from pulling away.

"I don't know what the design is," Hawke admitted, her thumb dragging affectionately over the medallion of Isabela's necklace, "It just makes me think of you."

The pirate instinctively brought her own hand to the accessory, finding the etched marks of the Rivaini coins. Each was stamped with the same stylized symbol. Feeling the design now beneath the pad of her thumb Isabela could trace every edge, curve and groove of the pattern she'd seen carved into the earth a dozen times, drawn on her back a hundred more.

"You sodding romantic." Isabela scoffed but made no effort to push Hawke's hand away, allowing her Champion to curl close as they gave into exhaustion.

* * *

><p>Cassandra leaned against Eve; the Inquisitor, in turn, rested against the stone wall that supported them both. The initial crushing intensity of their embrace had mellowed to a more languid tenderness. Lips alternated between lingering caresses and open exploration, neither rushing to reach beyond this new and intoxicating intimacy. The slow savor of each taste and touch, every sigh and whisper, all the sensations were caught on skin and emblazoned into memory as they learned the language of longing shared.<p>

Years of romance serials (and some very smutty books) gave the Seeker an impressive vocabulary she might not otherwise have acquired. Amongst the words no warrior actually needed to know were: tumescent, florid, rubicund and concupiscent. 'Throbbing' showed up a lot too. But the word she'd always found most offensive was 'swoon.' Warriors did not swoon. Passion filled your blood with heat and coiled your muscles tight enough to burst; the intensity made you want to climb to the top of a mountain with your bare hands and scream challenges to the wind. It did _not_ make you faint into a mess of spineless drivel.

Swooning was, therefore, not an option. It was certainly not the word that described the feeling of irresistible heaviness in her limbs or the rebellion in her legs that made her grateful for the wall that steadied them both. She wasn't going to faint away from a swell of emotion even though it choked her breath; that wasn't why she broke their kisses intermittently to inhale the scent of the other woman's skin. There was no weakness in the desire of her touch but the very opposite: the trembling in her muscles was power controlled, subdued, forced into submissions of delicacy that tested the limits of her will. She would not see the tenderness of this revelation shattered.

"Maker!" Eve's sighed prayer turned to a whimper at the brush of a kiss near her ear. It was the first thing either of them had said in minutes that might have been hours. Her voice rasped, thick with longing.

"You are far more reverent than our rogues." Cassandra licked her lips, stung by the rawness and heat. She leaned back, enjoying the sight of lust-blown eyes so black they could've been windows to the Void. It was a rush of power like victory in battle, knowing she had such an effect. The only spell more powerful than desire for another was seeing it mirrored back. There's a difference between discipline and timidity. Seeker Pentaghast had years of discipline, that did not make her shy. Proving that, she cradled Eve's face in one hand, drawing her back in for a heated exchange.

"Hey, Seeker, are you still taking first wa-oh!" Varric's voice came down from the top of the stairs, cut short when he found the object of his search.

"Damned dwarf." Cassandra's muttered curse whispered over Eve's skin and she laughed despite the goose bumps.

"Varric, you have the _worst_ timing." The Inquisitor sighed as she felt the Seeker pull away from their tangled embrace. The resigned bitterness in her humor echoed Cassandra's own frustration. The dwarf descended the stairs, watching both women arrange themselves into a semblance of innocence.

"Trust me, Inquisitor, if I'd known _this_ was going on?" Varric gestured between the two of them as he approached, "I'd have been down here a lot sooner. I need fresh material for a new romance."

"You wouldn't dare." Cassandra turned on him, the same threat curling her fists as when he'd revealed the secret of the Champion.

"Easy, Seeker. I wouldn't dream of using you in a romance," Varric took a step back, offering peace and insult in the same breath as only he could, "But if it gets good I might have to steal notes."

"You were looking for us?" Eve cut off the Seeker's angry reply, catching her wrist and silently reminding her that attacking the dwarf never yielded useful results.

"Merrill went to sleep. Seeker had told me she wanted to take first watch this time; I thought I'd see if that still held. I understand if the situation has changed." A rumble of humor and suggestion danced in his tone, echoed in the waggle of an eyebrow.

"I will take the watch now." Cassandra confirmed, moving back up the stairs toward the camp.

"I could keep you company." Eve volunteered, following close and a touch too eager.

"No, you could not," the Seeker turned to her firmly, the harsh command softened only by the warmth of her eyes, "You would be a distraction."

"Go to bed, Inquisitor. I'll take the watch after her." Varric gently suggested, reading the determination in Cassandra's face. Trevelyan's shoulders slumped a touch with disappointment, nodding unwilling surrender. She moved towards her tent and was surprised when a hand caught her arm, briefly turning her back. The Seeker pulled her close once more, bold with no one present besides Varric – who studiously pretended to ignore what was going on while watching every detail.

"I could come see if you're awake when I finish." Cassandra suggested, the brazen idea contradicted by the nervous innocence of her voice. The Inquisitor's relieved smile would've illuminated a dark cavern. Rather than trust words she simply nodded, squeezing the other warrior's hand once and brushing a chaste touch against her lips before departing for what promised to be very sweet dreams. Varric silently watched her leave before taking a few steps closer to the Seeker.

"If you do the first watch I can take it from there. No reason to bother anyone else tonight." He offered, casual and brusque. The no-nonsense tone of his voice couldn't quite conceal the underlying sacrifice. There was only himself and the two warriors available for watch; Merrill was too easily distracted, the two rogue lovers too involved with each other and _no one_ would try to pry Leliana from the Hero's side. In his simple suggestion he'd generously offered to stand a double watch rather than deprive Eve and Cassandra of time they obviously needed together.

"Thank you, Varric." The Seeker looked down at the dwarf, determined to convey with every inch of her expression the gratitude she felt. The stout blonde nodded, a wink sealing the deal before he walked away to get what sleep he could. Cassandra knew she had misjudged him many times. She'd resolved to be more careful in the future and yet he always managed to surprise her.

* * *

><p>Sleep can be either friend or enemy for a bard. It is a priceless ally when others fall prey to the clutches of dreams, aiding the theft of secrets and silent escape. That same power is what makes it a deadly enemy when the weight of slumber falls on senses that need to stay alert. Leliana never truly slept. Not since her days playing the Orlesian Game when sleeping in the wrong bed or on the wrong night meant an eternal repose. She might have had the occasional night of secure and private dreams but even those vanished after Marjolaine. A bard by training, spymaster by circumstance and now about to be Divine - the single most powerful influence in the Game; she would sleep armed but she would not truly rest.<p>

So it was with a jolt of surprise that she startled awake, realizing she'd been not just resting but lost in the deep slumber that was beyond dreams. The gentle glide of fingers combing through her hair soothed the instinct to panic while reminding her of why she had felt so safe. Only with her Hero would she dare to drop her guard so completely. Solona had fallen back asleep after their few minutes of reunited conversation and Leliana had simply lain beside her, not expecting the familiar security to lull her off as well.

"We decided I'm not dead," the mage spoke quietly, knowing her bard was awake without having to see her eyes, "And it can't be a dream because you're usually less dressed in those."

"Really? You must tell me more sometime, yes?" The redhead fought to open her eyes, half her will wanting only to lose herself in the sound of her beloved's voice, the other half determined to memorize her face as well.

"Perhaps. But you being in the Deep Roads is far closer to a nightmare." There was an audible frown in Solona's words and it broke Leliana's stalemate, eyes opening to take in the unhappy line of her mouth.

"That is how I have felt since you last left." The bard replied, matching the tone of solemnity. Unconsciously, she reached forward to thread her fingers in Solona's hair, tangling to hold on.

"Leliana, I'm already tainted," the mage pointed out, "Darkspawn are twice the threat to you. If you got sick . . ."

"The Joining does not make you invulnerable. You could be killed here below as easily as I could be wounded," the redhead refused to hear the argument, "Death was never a concern that kept us apart, my love. You have been searching for a way to stay by my side, now let me fight at yours."

"I suppose fighting beside me is better than _with_ me," The Hero smiled, still too weak for any gesture stronger than the hand that cradled her lover's face in wonder, "I must be selfish. I missed you so much that I don't even care about the danger. I'm too happy you're here."

"Then we can be selfish and happy together," Leliana's gently accented musing purred over Solona's cheek, "And when this is done we will decide how to be together for good. I will not live without you anymore."

"And I won't lose you again." The Hero agreed, struggling with what energy she had left to stay awake, trying to stay present to savor every moment of her beloved's touch. All too soon the weakness of her injuries overwhelmed her once more and she faded to unconsciousness. Leliana, despite all her training and instincts, followed suit. Both women slept entwined, matching smiles gracing their lips.

* * *

><p>Hawke stirred towards consciousness just enough to note the weight and curves of the body wrapped in her arms. Grinning, she buried her face into the crook of a shoulder that smelled of saltwater and spice. Where Isabela absorbed the luxurious scent of cardamom and balsa she hadn't a clue but it clung to her skin with the sheen of sweat. The Champion inhaled deeply, ignoring the tickled reflex that tried to push her away. Isabela wasn't much fight in her sleep. Perhaps that was why it had taken entire years to convince the damned woman to actually stay the night? Hawke sighed, tucking her chin and burrowing her face as close to the tranquility of her lover's warmth as she could manage.<p>

Captain Isabela of the Raiders was no easy prize to catch. Even with both arms wrapped around the woman and fingers laced with the smell of her pleasure, Hawke found herself wondering how long it would last this time. Ten years since they'd met, seven since they'd first become lovers; this chase they'd perfected of never too close but never beyond reach was an agonizing dance. Hawke knew her lover was damaged. Her past was a sea of scars and traumas that had left her inured to intimacy. Patiently, with words, promises and actions to prove her devotion, she had been rewarded to see her pirate grow soft with lingering affection. Isabela had eventually stopped running away. The moment she swore to stay beside her Champion was also the moment the universe began to shatter apart and force them in separate directions.

There was no one in all Thedas that Hawke wanted more than Isabela. She said it every chance she could; not just with her lips but with her eyes and hands and breath. She knew the pirate felt the same but she was still too stubborn to return the words. Rivaini natives were a superstitious people and sailors even more; to speak aloud a deep desire was to invite only heartbreak when the universe inevitably ripped it away. Isabela had confessed her love in a thousand different ways but never once said the words. Not as a jest, as a game or even a ribald seduction; the woman was too damn willful and – beneath it all – afraid. She barely tolerated hearing the Champion's own expressions of affection.

"I love you, 'Bela." Hawke murmured, kissing the sleeping captain's brow. In dreams the pirate couldn't fight her. The tiny contented sigh that answered her words wasn't the testament of devotion she might desire, but it was hint enough of their bond.

* * *

><p>Cassandra poked at the fire, stirring the flames before throwing another log into place. It was soothing, imagining the fevered workings of her mind vanishing in the smoke. In the hours since Inquisitor Trevelyan went to bed the Seeker found herself increasingly stunned by the turn of events. Had the leader of the Inquisition truly confessed to desiring a deeper relationship? Cassandra's cheeks colored at the thought, wondering just how long she'd been oblivious to such a turn of feeling. <em>What would you have done if you'd known?<em> The rebuke of her ration sharply scolded away such juvenile questions. What may or may not have happened before mattered little compare to what she would do next. That was where the thoughts grew troubled.

Trevelyan was the leader of the Inquisition, a figurehead of hope and promise to millions. She herself was dedicated to rebuilding the Seekers of Truth, restoring their glory and purpose of old. Where in between all that was the space for a relationship? Weren't they being naïve to think there was time for anything so selfish as . . . Cassandra caught hold of the thought before it could finish. The newness of the kiss still burned on her mouth, her cheeks flushing each time she thought of the Inquisitor's tender declaration. To start thinking in terms of serious words like 'love' was to attach unspoken promises. She had to focus on only what was real thus far.

_Thus far, the Inquisitor confessed to wanting you and what she didn't say in words was clearly on her lips. _The Seeker's mind was trained to discern secrets and motivations behind the actions of others. The hard-wrought logic of her mind had always been merciless in presenting the facts others might not want to hear and now it had turned on her. _Pretend you didn't know all you like, but you cannot deny that you're pleased._ She unconsciously raised a hand to trace fingers against her scar, echoing the touch that had ghosted over her cheek.

"Hey, Seeker. My turn." Varric greeted as he approached from across the fire. Cassandra's hand shot back from her face, snapping her attention to the intrusion with a mask of irritation before remembering the dwarf's kind efforts on her behalf.

"Thank you, Varric." It took all her discipline to keep her voice steady, immune to the bewildering thoughts at the edge of her tongue. Rising to her feet she nodded to the blonde as he took the position of sentinel, a small unspoken salute they shared.

Cassandra contemplated turning to her own tent. Weariness plagued her very bones after the events of the past days and especially last hours. Not even the Inquisitor would blame her for seeking the refuge of slumber in her bedroll rather than confronting the heavier issues that waited in Trevelyan's company. But the Seeker had promised.

Without a word the Nevarran stepped into Eve's tent as silently as possible. Closing the flap she turned and regarded the sleeping noblewoman. Trevelyan wasn't thrashing in nightmares for a change, a hint of contentment curling her lips. Cassandra crouched beside her, face resting against her fist as she contemplated the fate she'd fallen into. This woman had literally been dropped at her feet; whether it was by the Maker, Andraste or Corypheus seemed to matter little anymore. She'd proven herself a hero beyond anyone's imaginings and a friend the Seeker couldn't have hoped for. Now she was offering something even more and Cassandra struggled to decide if she even deserved such a gift.

"I cannot believe I am even contemplating this." The Nevarran sighed, shaking her head as if to knock away the thoughts.

"I can't believe you haven't collapsed. Lay down." Eve's graveled words mumbled back, one sleepy hand shifting forward to indicate the space near her. Had the woman been hovering at the edge of sleep all this time? Or did she only return from dreams when she noticed the Seeker's presence?

"I am not sure that's wise." Cassandra gently protested, balancing her objection between prudence and propriety. It was a fine line, questioning an idea without rejecting the person.

"Cassandra," the sleepy murmur of her name made the Seeker smile, "I'm not going to try anything. We're in the Deep Roads for Maker's Sake."

"I was more concerned with what the others might think should they see me emerging from your tent when we woke." The warrior explained with a glimmer of amusement. That the other woman was concerned with questions of decency was sweetly romantic if a trace naïve. Cassandra could easily defend her honor. She was more concerned with not allowing their private decisions to become a matter of cheap gossip.

"Of course," The Nevarran continued her thoughts aloud, "There is little hope of discretion with Varric knowing."

"Does it bother you?" Eve's eyes finally opened, struggling toward the alert attentiveness this conversation apparently demanded, "I can tell him to stay quiet. Really. A few well shaped threats about Bianca and wood screws and he'll hold his tongue."

Cassandra let out a breath of a chuckle, smiling as she settled down to her side, closer to the Inquisitor. She couldn't even be sure which 'Bianca' the woman intended to threaten but she was clearly sincere.

"Does it not bother you? The idea that everyone would know?" The Seeker's eyes were wide with puzzled curiosity. She'd fiercely protected her personal life for so long; the idea of allowing others such intimate knowledge chafed like ill-fitting armor.

"You should know: amongst all my other traits," Eve's drowsy hand reached out, finding Cassandra's arm and tugging her to shift a hint closer, "I'm something of a braggart."

"Oh, are you?" The Seeker teased, lips turning to a coy smile as she allowed herself to be pulled to the ground. She lay propped on her elbow, careful to stay just out of contact with the other woman's body.

"I am," Eve confirmed with a wide, smug grin, "Tonight I kissed the most beautiful, enchanting, _irresistible_ woman I've ever known. I'll be having Josephine send out engraved announcements as soon as we're back."

"Announcing what, precisely, Inquisitor?" Cassandra questioned, voice beginning to hum with fatigue. She watched the exhaustion stretch across Trevelyan's features as she yawned, wincing to stay coherent for the remaining seconds of conversation.

"That the only person more amazing than me is you," Eve confided with a chuckle of contended pride, "And that you're a really, really damn good kisser."

"You would not dare." The Seeker gasped, imagining the horrors of the entire Inquisition armed with such gossip. She could already hear Sera's cackling dirty jokes and Bull's roaring laughter.

"Not if you lay down and go to sleep. Now." The Inquisitor ordered, eyes long since surrendered to approaching slumber. Cassandra contemplated arguing but the sheer peace of the other woman's expression stilled her tongue. Eve looked so tranquil in this moment, fading to repose with only happy thoughts; the Seeker didn't have the heart to destroy such contentment. Laying the rest of the way down she stretched out, pillowing her head on her own arm as she regarded the peaceful face inches from her own.

"Sleep well, Inquisi – Eve." The Seeker murmured. It would take time to get used to such terms of familiarity. A small hum of acknowledgment accompanied a twitch of smile and the Inquisitor's arm tightened around Cassandra's waist, pulling her close. The Nevarran held her breath, startled by the intimacy of their position. Gradually the quiet sound of the other woman's heartbeat and soft exhalations lulled her muscles to relaxation. By the time she fell asleep Cassandra had mirrored Eve's hold, both resting close enough to warm each other's dreams.

* * *

><p><em>Reactions enjoyed, reviews appreciated. Thank you!<br>_


	16. Answers

Eve woke to the noise of industrious activity outside her tent.

"Easy, Daisy. I'd like to eat my breakfast _with_ eyebrows." Varric's admonition was patient and amused. Trevelyan wasn't sure she'd ever once seen him get mad. Even when fighting with Cassandra he'd been oddly . . . tolerant. He was the only member of her circle that she could imagine fathering a child. In the actual, parentally involved sense. _Can Qunari and humans even -?_ She flashed on the thought of all the serving girls at the Herald's Rest. Thank the Maker for Dorian.

"I'd worry less about those eyebrows and more about your smoldering chest hair." Isabela advised, her voice throaty with the languor of sleep and the exertions of the night.

"You always say that, 'Bela." Merrill pointed out. Eve imagined the mage would've liked to roll her eyes but probably didn't know how to express such a level of sarcasm.

"Yes, Kitten, but this time it's actually smoking." A hint of stifled laughter was overwhelmed by Varric's oath of surprise.

"Fenedhis! Sorry, Varric!" Merrill exclaimed. A rush of cold wind gusted through the tent and Eve instinctively hugged closer to nearby warmth. She froze, realizing what the source of that warmth was. Cassandra still lay in her arms; she hadn't moved even an inch in her sleep.

"Singed chest hair and ice in your eyebrows," Hawke observed blithely, "I told you using magic for something that small wasn't a good idea."

"That'll teach me to want something other than dried ram's meat for breakfast," Varric acknowledged in surrender, "I can't believe it's this hard to make toast."

"Makes you miss Bodahn, eh, Varric?" Hawke's sigh was one of longing and echoed by the dwarf.

"I forgot he traveled with you as well." Leliana's distinct accent observed. The bard was out with the others; did that mean the Hero was awake? Trevelyan felt a tug of curiosity draw her towards activity but it had to battle the selfish pleasure of lingering just a few more minutes curled with the Seeker.

"He was our quartermaster in the Roads. Supplied pretty much anything we needed," Varric recalled nostalgically, "He could whip up an omelet out of spider eggs and deep mushrooms that would be famous in Val Royeaux!"

"Yes, well," Hawke had a slightly different opinion, "Orlesians eat cheese that tastes of despair and cakes called Exquisite Misery. I wouldn't be too impressed."

Entertaining as it was to imagine the events and expressions accompanying her friends' conversation, Eve knew she couldn't remain absent. The demands of the mission and the promise of answers were too strong a pull to resist. She had to get up. That, however, required dealing with the issue of the woman asleep beside her.

Trevelyan (in a distant life she barely remembered as her own) had experienced a wide range of 'morning after' events. The good ones segued into repeat performances; nicely memorable. The bad ones, on the other hand, were horribly unforgettable. Awkward marriage proposals, startled servants, painful slaps, creative oaths, daring window escapes and – on at least one occasion – rushing off naked because the spouse returned early. _Not to mention that whole stabbing incident._ Eve recalled with a chuckle the lesson she'd learned as she fled with a wound in her side: find out their profession _before_ going to sleep. Assassins had tetchy reflexes first thing in the morning.

None of this broad, practical knowledge was of any help in her current situation. The simpler the question, the more complex the outcome. Slip away quietly and let Cassandra sleep? Stay and wait for her to wake on her own? Split the difference and wake her up to at least say good morning before resuming her responsibilities? Each option was a doorway leading to a winding maze of possible reactions and not a single one could she predict. Faced with vague outcomes and risks on every path, the Inquisitor did what she was good at: she made a calculated decision.

Untangling herself from the Seeker, Eve rose as noiselessly as possible. It was the least time-consuming option. It harmonized with the priority of their mission in the Deep Roads. It was well-justified, completely excusable and possibly even necessary. The fact that it was also tainted with streaks of cowardice was shoved far from her mind as Trevelyan emerged from the tent.

"Finally joining us, sweets? Thought you'd skip breakfast for a tastier meal." Isabela greeted the Inquisitor as she stretched and joined her friends. The pirate was reclined beside and partially across the seated Champion. The position of blatant intimacy was at first the obvious flaunting of a proud exhibitionist. On a deeper level, perhaps one that the Rivaini herself never considered, it was very, incredibly, profoundly territorial. Either way, it made Eve smile.

"I heard rumors of toast." The Inquisitor ignored Isabela's suggestion and turned to Varric.

"We're working on that one. It's gonna take practice." The dwarf nodded to a pile of shriveled black disks ready to crumble to ash if anyone looked at them too hard.

"We knew dwarf bread had many remarkable qualities. Now we can add incineration to the list." The unfamiliar voice was woven with twin notes of sympathy and amusement. Eve found the Warden-Commander seated on the ruins of a pillar, still as pale as when she'd last seen her but with a brilliantly stubborn spark of will in her eyes. Leliana sat beside the Hero of Ferelden, both dignified and poised as Orlesian royalty but unable to completely hide their smiles.

"Warden Amell, a privilege to finally meet you in person." Trevelyan felt something more than a casual greeting was demanded. She approached and extended her hand, hoping it was sign enough of her respect because she couldn't salute worth a damn.

"Likewise, Inquisitor. I wish it were under better circumstances." The Hero smiled, shaking the proffered hand with martial precision but friendly enthusiasm.

"All part of the fun of being a hero, right?" Eve smiled, relaxing now that the formal introduction was concluded, "We get to meet the most fascinating people, just usually when they're about to die or kill us."

"With the wardens it will likely be both." Hawke had risen and joined them. The Champion uttered the prediction with a tired smirk, the amused resignation of a fighter who's won the same battle a hundred times. Beneath that confident nonchalance, however, was a bite of anger flashing in her eyes. The rebel wardens could have no idea that by involving Hawke's sister they'd unwittingly unleashed something worse than the wrath of the gods.

"Warden-Commander," The Inquisitor tore her eyes away from the spectacle of such intense emotion, "Can you please tell us what happened?"

"Cassandra, impeccable timing as ever." Leliana's greeting was meant more for Eve than the Seeker herself. The Inquisitor turned, fixing on the approaching woman and trying to read her mind in her movements. The warrior showed no hint of upset over waking alone. Nor did she seem to care that she was emerging from the Inquisitor's tent with an audience. In fact, she showed no sign whatsoever of the previous evening. Her expression was direct and practical, already devoted to the business of their mission.

"About time!" Isabela got to her feet and strode over to the Seeker, determined scrutiny narrowing her eyes as she trespassed deep into personal space.

"Excuse me?" Cassandra voiced her affront, taken aback by the invasive greeting. Her military discipline had no answer for the bizarre assault.

The pirate didn't flinch from the rebuke but continued her examination, circling the warrior like a hungry predator. When she stopped and brought her face to within an inch of the other woman's the Seeker reflexively reached to push her back. The rogue caught her striking hand, surprising both Cassandra and all the rest of the company. With slow and deliberate movement, not taking her eyes off the Nevarran, Isabela raised the captured fingers and gave a very audible, embarrassingly obvious, sniff.

"You lose, Hawke. They didn't do anything," the pirate announced, stepping back from the Seeker with a look of pity, "Not a trace of scent on her."

"You, on the other hand, reek of a brothel." Cassandra grimaced at the Rivaini and increased their distance. Eve loved the controlled ire of that voice, refusing to be shamed.

"You mean you _have_ been in one? You've been holding out on me!" Isabela grinned with dramatic delight, "Do you prefer the 1 sovereign standard or 2 sovereign special? Soldiers are always so cheap but I'd bet you know how to enjoy the finer things."

"Later, 'Bela." Hawke reached for the pirate's arm and pulled her away, tugging her close enough to whisper something that sounded suspiciously like 'double or nothing.' The sailor's pout turned to a wicked grin before returning to the seriousness of matters at hand.

Eve had instinctively moved so that Cassandra could assume her usual station. From before the birth of the Inquisition it had been comforting to have the Seeker at her side, a silent (or sometimes vocal) support. When consulting the council, challenging nobles or simply confronting danger, this pattern of standing aligned had grown into an engrained habit. Cassandra wordlessly took her place beside the Inquisitor. The familiar position was an unconscious acknowledgment, a subliminal promise. Whatever might have changed the night before, whatever was yet to come, nothing changed _them._

"Apologies for the delay," the Seeker shot Isabela a tiny, irritated glare before nodding to the company, "You were saying?"

The silent reassurance of the Seeker's presence allowed the muscles coiling in Eve's shoulders to relax. Questions that had been thrashing beneath her thoughts since the moment she awoke all gradually quieted and fell away. Her mind was clear and tuned with piercing intensity as the Hero began to speak,

_"__Ortan's Thaig was a perfect place for setting up a long-term camp in the Deep Roads. From this location the paths to over two dozen other thaigs were available. The fresh water was spring fed and untainted, the ruins still secure enough to provide shelter. Best of all, it was nestled just beyond the attention of any darkspawn or monstrosities. From here I could record my explorations and continue my search._

_Search for what? Ah, yes, that's the important question isn't it? Leliana has told you I'm trying to find a cure for the Calling. The madness that grips wardens when the taint grows to its final stages. To die of the blight is brutal enough but to be haunted by the voices of the Old Gods? Is it any wonder so many wardens inevitably surrender and plunge here to the Deep Roads to invite the release of death?_

_Only two wardens have ever fought the Calling. One was cured completely of the taint – send my regards to Fiona, will you? The secret of that cure lies somewhere here below, it must. I had hoped to find the research of a creature I met many years ago. A darkspawn possessed of free will. I think, I __feel__, that answers lie in understanding the mystery of the Architect and his Disciples. The remains of his laboratory are in ashes but there are pockets of his followers still preserved throughout the Roads. What if – and I cannot tell you how little I know as I wonder – what if in the Dark Joining he stumbled upon a crucial secret?_

_Wardens drink darkspawn blood to enjoin with them; they receive their powers, sense the blight and ultimately hear the song of the Old Gods, the Calling that drives all tainted creatures. When darkspawn drink __warden__ blood they are suddenly freed of that command. They gain free will and no longer are enslaved to the Old Gods. What would happen if this ritual was brought full circle? If the blood of the darkspawn has power, and the blood of the wardens has power, what might be the result when a warden consumes the blood of a freed darkspawn? Is it possible to reverse the effect of the Joining?_

_I know this is all theory and must seem desperately remote from the situation at hand but you must understand, this mystery is what pushed the wardens to rebel; it is what brought them here. I tried to keep news of my return to Ferelden a secret. Word travels slowly in the Deep Roads but it reaches far. Wardens from here to Weisshaupt must gradually have discovered that I was back. Since it was common knowledge that I've been working on reversing the Calling they could only assume my return meant I'd succeeded. I do not know what arguments raged at the stronghold or how it came to brothers shedding each other's blood. I knew nothing of these events until days ago – has it been days? – a force of wardens stormed my camp. They were over a hundred strong, some injured but many enhanced from having accelerated their taint. I fought off the first wave but then they revealed their hostages._

_I'm sorry, Hawke. I had no idea that I was putting you or Bethany at risk. Simply by being alive and sharing blood it would seem we are cursed to fight the battles of others. She was healthy and uninjured and shouting curses at all her former brethren. You'd have been proud. Given a staff she likely would have wiped them out herself but I couldn't risk a battle killing her and all the other captives. I yielded._

_I told them all I knew, all I'd been trying to find. They are desperate people. Conscripted men and women that have seen 10 years of peace since the last blight, they want to return to their lives and families. This recent upheaval with the false Calling terrified them all; they have lost much of their ration. Wounded animals are controlled by fear and madness and that is the state of these wardens. When they did not believe I had told them everything they brought out spells and weapons. _

_It's alright, Leliana. Shh, my love. You'll have a chance to kill them soon. Yes, I promise._

_I let my defenses give in, placing all my magic in a restoration spell. That may be the only reason they gave up and moved on. Who wants to keep beating a corpse? I woke not long before Hawke found me, using what lyrium I had left to stay conscious." _

"At which point you said I absolutely couldn't follow the wardens and headed off to dreams full of defeated demons and buxom redheads." Hawke contributed as they felt the warden's story wind to a close.

"You're only jealous you couldn't join her." Isabela contributed, winking to Leliana.

"Warden, what did you tell them? Where did they go?" Cassandra was serious enough to stay concerned with the topic at hand.

"When I told them about my research with the Disciples they demanded to know the locations of their nests. I believe they wish to test my theory, regardless of the questions and risks." The Hero explained, worry knitting her brow as she pondered the depths of stupidity in their decision.

"That's why they kept the hostages." Eve groaned. Who else would the wardens use for experimentation besides captives of their own kind?

"I believe so," Solona agreed, deadly solemn, "But we have an advantage. They demanded the route to the closest nest of Disciples. I told them. But I did not tell them of a quicker way."

"A shortcut?" Hawke's eyes shimmered with excited admiration. Even family was in awe of the unassuming Hero. Trevelyan wondered how much interaction the cousins had been able to enjoy before or after the fate of becoming legends called them both away.

"Just so. All this time below had to yield _some_ advantage. I know a path that cuts the time in half." The warden rose to her feet. The gesture of leadership would've been impressive if not for the subtle sway in her movements as she strained to stay upright. Whatever tortures the rebels had wrought upon her, her body was still straining to recover.

"Perhaps our advantage of time would be best used for rest?" Leliana gently suggested, rising and subtly placing a hand of support to her lover's arm.

"No! I'm just a little too drained to heal myself," Solona had the pride of a Haw- no, an _Amell_ - as she turned to Merrill, "Do you have any lyrium with you?"

"No. I'm sorry. I should've thought but the men came so suddenly and I didn't know what to bring." The elf rambled her flustered apology.

"And she was so busy setting her escorts on fire," Varric wrapped a comforting arm around the nervous mage, "But we're in the Deep Roads! This is where lyrium comes from!"

Eve grinned, shooting the dwarf a look of pure gratitude. As Inquisitor she'd learned to harness and lead the focus of dozens, even hundreds or thousands of people. She still admired the gift in some of her friends that let them control or inspire action without needing a trace of authority.

"He's right. I saw a boulder of the stuff when I was searching for the wardens' trail." Hawke volunteered.

"Excellent. Where?" Cassandra was never one for patience on the battlefield. Where there was action she eagerly followed, generally leading the charge.

"Head that way," Hawke pointed over her shoulder, "For about – oh, Maker-knows-how-long and when you see a big clump of rocks that are bigger and rockier than the other rocks hang a left. After that you just have to watch for the pillar of fallen ruins and –oh, wait, there are about three dozen of them – well, the chunk of lyrium is _just_ beyond that."

"Would you prefer to go fetch it yourself?" The Seeker's voice was remarkably calm in her sarcasm.

"Only if you think it's for the best." Hawke faked a modest astonishment at the suggestion.

"The sooner you find the lyrium, the sooner we can be on our way, yes?" Leliana nodded permission for Kirkwall's Champion to undertake the mission. Hawke gave a nod of salute, more cocky than courteous, and spun to head out of the thaig.

"I'm going with her." Isabela followed with a determination that forbade argument, despite the swagger of her hips demanding objection. Eve watched the rogues vanish into the waiting darkness, already uneasy with the development.

"That either doubles their efficiency or their distraction." Cassandra remarked, voicing the Inquisitor's precise concern.

"Merrill, make sure they stay focused?" Eve suggested, spurring the mage to scamper eagerly after her friends.

"Is that really the best choice for keeping those two in line?" The Seeker's skepticism bordered on reproach. Supportive and comforting as she could be, Cassandra also never hesitated to challenge boneheaded decisions.

"The Hero is obviously too weak to go. If I sent Varric they'd just ignore him. You they would deliberately ditch and Leliana they'd try to seduce. Merrill is the only one that they care about enough to actually behave." The Inquisitor easily explained her logic. Rapid assessments were part of survival. Cassandra knew battle and enemies but had yet to really learn people. Trevelyan was certain she'd read the situation right.

"I notice you left one option out." The Seeker perceptively honed in on the gap in Eve's explanation. Trevelyan's eye twitched, as close to a cringe as she would allow herself at being caught. Cassandra had turned to study the warrior's face carefully as she replied. A challenge in her gaze went well beyond the playful words.

"If I went with them Varric would start inventing stories so fast he'd set himself on fire." The Inquisitor smirked, more than aware of the role she'd play in such tales.

There had been a dangerous glint in Cassandra's eye, a promise that if Eve had been foolish enough to accompany the rogues someone would've ended up dead. The threat vanished into approval, confident affection rising to the shimmering surface of her gaze. Eve was captivated, the color of those eyes seemed to shift and sparkle with the play of thoughts and emotions beneath.

"I'm going to secure the perimeter." The Seeker abruptly announced, turning on her heel and marching away. She executed the move with such swift precision that Eve felt like she'd been hit by one of Dorian's lightning spells, momentarily paralyzed by shock.

"Your Inquisitorship?" Varric nudged her, dispelling the stunned effect. Trevelyan didn't answer, just looked down in speechless question.

"She was smiling, Inquisitor." The dwarf advised. The best narrators know that sometimes it's all the things you don't say that tell the story. It also provided a fun way to test audiences since it required a little work on their part to fill in the gaps. Eve rapidly spun the words around each other, finding what made them fit. Her feet were moving before the last thought had even locked into place.

From behind, words followed her rapid departure, a tiny reminder of the larger audience she'd forgotten.

"She's certainly quick." Solona observed.

"She has had to be." Leliana agreed, fondness curling in her words.

* * *

><p>Cassandra could move at amazing speed without ever looking like she was in a hurry. The valor and conviction in her step made her regal even when she rushed. Eve followed the path she'd seen the Seeker take before vanishing, vague on any plan other than catching up to the woman. They had only minutes to steal. Maker knew how long it would take for Hawke to find the lyrium. Even if it took hours there were other pressing demands on their time. She needed to find out all she could about this Architect and Disciples business, she had to question the Hero further about the military force they were up against, they would need to plan their supplies and weaponry according to the coming route. In the midst of all that, there was the nagging distress of questions only the Seeker could answer and Eve knew her mind would helplessly grow more distracted and broken if they weren't put to rest.<p>

Rounding a corner of wreckage at the edge of the thaig Eve paused, biting her lip absently as she pondered which direction Cassandra would have gone. She knew she could call out but the option felt inappropriate. In the solemnity of the ruins, with privacy the entire purpose of leaving camp, it seemed impudent to be loud. Hazarding a few steps in the direction of chance, the Inquisitor was surprised to be suddenly stopped by a figure emerging from shadow. _How long was she waiting?_ Eve watched the Seeker approach, savoring the easy confidence of her movements. The dark gave way to reveal a small quirk at the edge of the Nevarran's mouth, a touch of pleasure that she could feel widen into a smile as lips brushed her own.

"I guess that means you haven't changed your mind." Eve returned the smile after Cassandra drew back from the kiss. Was there enough humor in her voice to mask the thread of anxiety?

"Despite what you must think, I am not easily given to regret," The Seeker informed her with determination, proud even in tenderness, "A wise friend taught me to never doubt following my heart."

"And where is that going to lead?" Eve's self-assurance came flooding back. The weight of the future threatened to burden her words. Instead, she twisted them into a light tease of invitation, resting one hand on the warrior's hip.

"I do not know." Cassandra shrugged, accepting the intimate gesture and returning it with surprising ease. Their foreheads naturally fell to rest against each other, the touch of fingers brushing warm chills over Eve's cheek.

"Not the most passionate answer from a confessed romantic." Trevelyan forced her stinging ego to step aside, strangling any strain of injury from her voice. If Cassandra wasn't certain of what she wanted, she couldn't be forced.

"None of the serials cover this situation," The Seeker shook her head, the sparkle in her eye a touch of laughter that didn't quite escape, "I hardly know what to expect. You can't exactly court me, can you?"

"Says who?" Eve demanded, straightening up to brace for a challenge. _Courting. Women can still do that. It's what – flowers? Love letters? Gifts? Meeting the family? Shit, no, please not family._

"We are in the Deep Roads." Cassandra allowed the laugh to reach her voice now. She was learning the way the Inquisitor rose and fell with every shift in her tone and words.

"Ok, I'll give you that." Trevelyan acknowledged. She relaxed back into the comfortable contact of their partial embrace, her surrender a sigh that ruffled short tresses of raven hair.

Cassandra tilted her head back, studying the woman before her. She pondered the depths of Eve's eyes, the play of thoughts across her face. Devotion, honesty, trust, courage; these were the highest ideals to fight for but they were also the most dangerous to hold. Such emotions were more powerful than weapons and they could inflict pain worse than any wound. Passion altered lives. In politics it sparked revolution, in faith it launched crusades. In people it shaped destiny. Was it any wonder both women had grown subdued in the face of such a daunting force?

"There are many answers I do not have," the Seeker finally broke their silence, brushing a strand of hair from Eve's cheek, "Perhaps it would be simplest to leave those questions for the calm of Skyhold rather than grapple them here in the dark?"

It wasn't precisely the reassurance Eve had been hoping for. _Maker damn it, who am I kidding?_ She'd hoped to hear a spontaneous declaration of undying love. Then again, she'd _expected_ to be told it was all a misunderstanding. Was she going to complain that the reality lay in between?

"You're right," The Inquisitor agreed, squaring her shoulders in an unconscious habit of harnessing strength, "I've already waited this long, haven't I?"

Cassandra's brow creased as she took in the casually offered words and the emotion beneath. Eve didn't have Leliana or Josephine's training at hiding her thoughts but she found a smirk could be as effective as a mask. The Seeker had grown familiar with this particular trick. Tracing the narrow line of her jaw Cassandra brushed away the flippant expression, forcing her mouth back to sincerity.

"You recall I once said you are more than I could have hoped for?" she waited to see the Inquisitor's subtle nod, "You still are. In everything."

The words triggered a flood of heated relief, an affection nearly radiant enveloping Eve's uncertainties and melting them away. The enthusiasm of her smile would have been reward enough but it was only a fraction of the adoration that followed with her lips.

* * *

><p><em>Ok - pretty sure I'm done with emotions for a few chapters now. Thanks for being patient! Who wants to kill some darkspawn? <em>


	17. Cousins

_Hawke rolled over onto the empty half of the mattress, immediately shivering at the contact of cold sheets._ Damn it, Isabela._ She fisted the abandoned pillow, smothering a groan of frustration. What was it going to take? They'd been doing this for months now. All the flirting and teasing had turned into a unique foreplay that threaded through their days before culminating in nights like this last one. Running her tongue along the inside of her mouth she tasted the remnants of liquor and the sting of a welt on her lip. The soreness and bruises that throbbed so wonderfully along her whole body were a satisfying echo of the ache that had fueled hours of passion. _

_The sheets were laden with the scent of sweat and skin. Hawke pushed herself upright, struggling for distance from the almost overwhelming rush of emotion that filled her lungs with every breath. Isabela had said no feelings. Fine. No feelings. Maker spank her glorious ass._

_At least the bottle on the nightstand wasn't empty this time. Several on the floor were and they clattered around Hawke's feet as she rose and staggered towards her wash basin. A long swallow of alcohol burned the sleep from her throat and promised to take the edge off her gnawing headache. She poured cold water and splashed it in her face, the icy droplets tiny needles as they dripped down her face and neck. _

_There were too many mornings like this. Even before Isabela. Too many nights passing out rather than falling asleep because it was the only way to avoid seeing Bethany in her dreams. Aveline had lectured her a dozen times. Anders had offered a shoulder to cry on. Merrill made sweet, helpful suggestions and Sebastian just recollected his own experiences of youthful depravity before seeing the wondrous calling of the Maker's light. Flaming tits – useless, all of them. _

_Varric at least drank with her in silence, both of them mourning family lost. Fenris invited her to spar, provoking her into battles that drained her every reserve of strength and stamina until breathing was impossible, let alone thought. Isabela . . . Hawke took another long drink, warmth burning down her throat even as it coursed into her blood. Isabela distracted her as no one else could. They traipsed across the Marches, hunting a relic that had become more of an abstract idea than a physical pursuit. They fought, stole, drank, laughed; in a hundred different ways the pirate made Hawke's life bearable. Then they slid into bed and life went from survival to sweet ecstasy. The fact that there was always agony waiting the next morning in the bitter emptiness of her sheets wasn't enough to numb Hawke to the desire for relief. She could lose herself against sun-soaked skin and raven hair, stealing moments of respite from all the burdens of the world. For a time she reached for Isabela in much the same way she reached for a drink. Now she only wanted the bottle when she couldn't hold the pirate anymore._

This is dragonshit._ Hawke frowned and tossed the liquor aside, too empty to damage the carpet. Moping over Isabela was no more productive than mourning her sister. It just happened that both pains managed to create the same hollow twist in her gut. Hawke's hand grazed the edge of her house robe before deliberately pushing it aside. She didn't need to be comfortable right now, she needed to be strong. Grabbing her tunic and leathers she slipped into the armor, already feeling better as she secured her vest, a physical barrier between her heart and all the pains of the world._

_Emerging from her room Hawke found the mansion sprawled in quiet below. It took getting used to, the emptiness of the massive house. Mother had reconnected with old friends and was seldom home during the day. After accidentally stumbling onto Hawke and Isabela's activities she also made a point of not going anywhere near her daughter's room between dusk and dawn. The rogue still cringed when she remembered the awkward moment. It wasn't so much that Leandra disapproved of Isabela – she'd actually gone to pains to assure Hawke that she didn't mind. It was the sadness still haunting her mother's eyes that made everything harder. The hollowness of loss still ate at them both and mother carried Carver and Bethany like wounds in her soul. In that moment of revelation which left all three paralyzed in shock, Hawke had seen a flash in her mother's eyes; hurt, betrayal, disappointment. How could there be laughter or happiness or even love in a world of such sorrow? In the pain of that gaze Hawke had suddenly felt as if she were abandoning her sister all over again. _

_So she wasn't all that unhappy that mother wasn't home now. Hawke trotted down the stairs, hoping she could find a quick bite of food to settle her stomach and a pleading letter beseeching some sort of violent aid. Maybe a kidnapped noble? Stolen luxury goods? Lyrium smugglers or slave traders? Anything that provided escape from the suffocating sadness of her own thoughts. _Flaming balls, I'll take a dragon._ Hawke turned to her desk, rustling through the random letters. Invitations, introductions, announcements; all were tossed aside as she rummaged through the papers. _Overly suggestive drawing of a flower and a bee. Good morning to you too, Isabela._ The rogue fought down a smile._

_"__Ah, my lady, glad you're awake! A visitor is waiting in the library." Bodahn entered the room with an eager smile. Hawke skeptically examined his enthusiasm; it wasn't like the dwarf to be excited about any visitor. He was fond of her friends and tolerated the aristocrats that often came to ingratiate themselves but she wasn't sure he'd ever looked so . . .happy? _

_"__A visitor, my my," Hawke slid effortlessly into her exterior of calm blasé, studying Bodahn and then turning to his son, "Is it someone good, Sandal? Or should I take a weapon?"_

_"__Smells of fire. Long ago," Sandal replied with his keen but vague trademark, "Enchantment!"_

_"__Right, just one dagger then." Hawke decided after pondering the mysterious reply. Grabbing a spare weapon from the letter table she headed back upstairs._

_The library was full of books collected across generations of the Amell family line. Dissertations, histories, research, doctrine; all in all it was long on education and short on entertainment. Fortunately both Isabela and Varric had been spicing up the shelves with random scatterings of pure trash. Was it one of these offerings that now held the attention of her guest? The stranger was a woman – that much Hawke could tell from behind. She wore unfamiliar armor but a terribly recognizable weapon. Not many mages were brave enough to wander the public streets armed._

_"__Can I help you?" Hawke inquired in her most charmingly diplomatic tone, the one she'd learned from her mother years ago when dealing with cheating traders. The woman turned in surprise. Apparently she wasn't used to people being able to sneak up on her. Taking in the crest of her armor, Hawke understood why. The emblazoned symbol of the griffin instantly filled her with a war of hope and dread._

_"__You're Hawke? The elder one – Marian?" The warden set down the book she'd been examining._

_"__Just Hawke is fine." She managed her reply on reflex, not entirely sure her mind was working with actual thoughts quite yet. _

_"__I have a letter for you." The mage seemed almost as nervous as Hawke herself. She fumbled in her belt before finding the folded paper and pulling it out, extending it with mild unease. Hawke grabbed the letter, faster than etiquette might allow but still too slow for her fingers to rip the seal open._

_'__Dear Marian,' the first words were enough to assure the rogue of the letter's origin and content. _Bethany. _A quick scan of the contents revealed nothing more sinister than news of her wellbeing. No near-death experiences, no sudden acceleration of her taint, not even the sad austerity of her previous letters. With a shaky breath of relief Hawke folded into a nearby chair, scolding the painful speed of her heart._ She's alive. She's ok. _The rest of the letter could wait for calm study in total privacy, for now Hawke knew what mattered most._

_"__Thank you. I know it couldn't be easy to get this here." She forced a grateful smile, pulling the rush of her emotions back into control. It was the third such letter Hawke had received from her sister since their tragic parting in the Deep Roads. The previous two had only been addressed to their mother. Was this going to be the pace and shape of their relationship from here on? _

_"__I hope you don't mind that I delivered it in person. I could have left it with your man but," the warden paused, debating her explanation, "I wanted to make sure you got it."_

_"__No, I appreciate it. Bodahn seemed excited about your visit; I guess he knew how important it was I get this." Hawke nodded her appreciation, holding the letter reverently between her fingers. _

_"__He seems very happy here. Sandal too. He hasn't burned the place down with an enchantment, that's always good." The warden remarked with a grateful smile, settling into a chair across from Hawke._

_"__You know them?" the rogue wondered in surprise. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard anyone other than a dwarf mention Sandal by name. The amazement of the letter from her sister was gradually making way for curiosity about the courier._

_"__It's been a while but yes, our paths crossed before. They're good friends." The mage seemed to test the shape of the word in her mouth before nodding that it was right. Friends._

_A warden from the Deep Roads that had been with her sister, now also revealing a former connection to two dwarves in her employ? Hawke's head was too fogged with her hangover and exhausted from emotion to struggle with a mystery so vague._

_"__Who are you?" She opted for the simplest solution. If the woman wanted to play games or keep secrets that was her choice but Hawke saw no reason to grapple with riddles._

_"__I hear so many titles these days, I don't really care for any of them. Warden always suited me best," the stranger admitted, combing hair away from her face in a mannerism that tickled Hawke's mind with familiarity, "Stories spread faster than names. Strange, isn't that? Names are so much more important. Mine's Solona. Amell."_

_Hawke blinked, wondering if the combined effects of alcohol, sleep deprivation, head injuries and mind-blowing sex (at times all combined) had finally rendered her senseless. Amell? Mother's family Amell? Her thoughts began to push for higher speeds, grappling through the distorted clouds and cobwebs of her mind, lunging towards answers at the edge of her grasp. A warden. A mage warden. A mage warden named Amell. _Holy shit, mother wasn't lying.

_"__You're her!" Hawke almost shouted before containing herself, continuing more quietly, "The Hero of Ferelden, you're her."_

_"__I'm told we're cousins." Solona nodded, reserved pleasure warming her smile. _

_"__That's what mother said. She told us after we got here, after news of the Blight ending finally reached Kirkwall. I thought," Hawke paused, wondering now just what she'd been thinking, "I just assumed she was telling Bethany this story of a powerful mage in the family so she wouldn't be so scared of her gift. Everyone knew a mage saved Ferelden, it was the first time any of us thought magic might not be a curse after all."_

_"__You didn't believe her," The Hero easily observed without judgment, "Don't worry, I didn't believe it myself when Anders showed up at Stroud's camp with this pale bundle of bones and dark hair, trying to tell me she was my blood."_

_"__Anders knew?" Hawke frowned. She'd never discussed her family with the mage. She hadn't even liked letting Bethany associate with him. He was a good healer and could be relied on in the pinch of battle but there was a touch of something unstable around the edge of his sanity. She always chalked it up to the presence of Justice but Anders worried her._

_"__I gather your sister spoke a great deal in her fever as the blight took hold. It was enough for him to believe. After she woke and was Joined, she was able to convince me as well." The warden looked like she had never been happier to lose a fight._

_"__Is she," Hawke paused, struggling for words to all the emotions choking her throat, "Is she ok? I mean the taint, the Joining, wardens, darkspawn . . . I know she can't be happy but is she at least safe?"_

_"__She is adjusting," Solona selected her words like an arcanist choosing tools, "It will take time. Even the wardens conscripted during a blight struggle to accept their new role. No one can help but rail against the universe when it changes the course of their life. Only at the end do they realize concealed blessings."_

_The warden's tone held the gravity of experience. There was a depth of emotion in her voice that bespoke damning fates and merciful destiny intertwined. Whatever anyone had expected of this mage before she was Hero, she had clearly not pressed ahead to her legendary triumphs by wallowing in the past._

_"__I shouldn't have taken her into the Deep Roads. It was selfish of me," Hawke confessed the nagging pain that had tortured her soul and stolen sleep for years, "I didn't want her to be out of my sight. Taking care of her was my job. After our father died it was the most important thing I had to do. If I had thought more clearly and just left her behind . . ."_

_"__You have no way of knowing what might have happened," Solona interrupted, her rebuke gentle but sharp enough to break Hawke's reproachful descent, "You made the best decision you could. Then and after. The Deep Roads change people, they change everyone. With some it just happens to be more obvious than others. Bethany is away from the templars and circles. She is honing her gifts with training from powerful and experienced mages. She has a better chance of becoming the person she was meant to be now than she ever did on the run as a hidden apostate."_

_Hawke absorbed the counsel in silence. The monster of guilt beneath her thoughts wanted to tear the logic to shreds and throw it aside, burrowing deeper into the recriminations that had become so familiar in these passing years. But it wasn't a friend trying to make her feel better. It wasn't her mother unselfishly offering absolution she didn't deserve. It was the Hero of blighted Ferelden telling her that there was no point in regret. She would know, wouldn't she?_

_"'__Our mistakes make us who we are,'" Hawke murmured under her breath, "Buggeration, Isabela was probably right. She'll be damned insufferable if she finds out."_

_"__Isabela?" the warden questioned curiously, a hint of reminiscence clouding the color of her eyes._

_"__She's my . . . friend." Hawke frowned, wishing the word didn't taste so bitter on her tongue. What else could she call her? 'Lover' implied very specific feelings whereas 'girlfriend' attached too many promises. With a scoff of irritation Hawke knew the most accurate word would probably be Aveline's favorite: whore; except there was never an exchange of gold. There were, however, other ways to pay. Hawke mused that she'd already offered everything she had to capture the elusive pirate's attentions. Whatever the cost, she would give a king's ransom if it meant keeping Isabela. No price was too high._

_"__I knew an Isabela once. Maker, it seems like a lifetime ago now," Solona observed, smiling at the memory, "Yours sounds like a smart woman. You'd be wise to keep her close."_

_Hawke didn't answer, just nodded before words betrayed the frustration of her thoughts. _Keep her close. Right._ The irony of her cousin's advice was sharp as the point of a blade. _If only it were that easy.

_Rather than let the conversation continue on such serious veins, Hawke insisted they rise and have refreshment. Bodahn had been nearly vibrating when she last saw the dwarf so he was clearly eager to lavish his old friend with luxury and treats. For the rest of the morning Hawke and her cousin traded stories of family and Ferelden, adventures and atrocities. There was much for them to learn of each other but the longer they talked the more it became apparent they already knew one another well. So much did they share that it was a mystery they had never crossed paths before. Life either in a circle or running to keep Bethany free, their blood held the magic that tore them in separate directions but ultimately had brought them together once more. For the first time in the three years since emerging from the Deep Roads with gold and despair, Hawke felt genuine relief._

"And you never once thought to mention you're related to the Hero of Ferelden?" Isabela demanded, the argument reaching back to camp well ahead of the actual rogues.

"You never told me you'd slept with her." Hawke objected as they came into view. They halted near the Inquisition company but were too distracted to notice the others. Merrill wasn't far behind and easily circumvented their spectacle to join the audience. A helpless shrug of her shoulders conveyed that this particular debate had been going on for some time.

"Sweet thing, I can't give you a list of all the people I've taken for a tumble in the sheets. For a start I don't even know all their names and those I do would take longer than reciting the Chant of Light backwards." The pirate dismissed the very idea with an idle wave of her hand.

"I suppose that's one way to keep holy words from burning your tongue." The Champion wryly observed, the tilt of her head inclined more towards humor than hostility. Eve felt there was an odd familiarity in the back and forth of their quarrel.

"This tongue has been bringing glory to the Maker for as long as I've known how to use it," Isabela pressed her advantage and her person close to Hawke, voice dripping challenge and temptation, "Just because you don't sing praises doesn't mean others haven't."

"I don't have to glorify the Maker. It's enough I'm on my knees." Hawke smirked, pretending to ignore the fingertips raking up her arm.

It was difficult to tell who had the advantage but clearly both rogues felt they were winning. _They're sparring._ Eve recognized with a start the rhythms and energy of their argument. The mood between them shifted like colors on water: from fighting to flirtation, taunting, mockery, praise, surrender; it was a dance as complex as any duel she had ever witnessed and they performed it with practiced ease.

"It isn't really worship until someone's singing, sweets," Isabela's smile turned evil and she leaned impossibly closer to stage whisper into Hawke's ear, "Just ask the warden about her songbird."

Eve fancied that she could hear the strain of the pirate's corset against Hawke's armor. The Champion pursed her lips, nodding thoughtfully as she bought time to force her body into submission. Her hands were braced on her hips, fingers clenched tight, fighting any desire to yield.

"How about it, Cousin," Hawke turned, a cocky challenge in the arch of her brow as she glanced between Solona and Leliana, "Care to trade company for a night?"

"Bloody ass," Isabela growled, punching her in the arm, "Captains never swap a good crew."

"Oh?" The other rogue rubbed what was swiftly becoming a bruise but couldn't stop grinning.

"No. We just add more hands to get the job done." The mocking taunt was accompanied by a brazen movement of her fingers below the Champion's belt. Eve was insanely glad Cassandra had been deliberately ignoring the performance.

"I do the job just fine, 'Bela. Or were your timbers not shivering enough?" Hawke grabbed the offending hand, clenching the wrist tight and eliciting a sharp inhalation of surprise from the pirate's lips.

"Should we stop them?" Trevelyan glanced nervously to the others in her company. Much longer and the two rogues would either become violent or violently inappropriate.

"And you say you're not a sailor," Isabela smiled, tilting within a breath of Hawke's mouth, "I'll have you flogged for telling lies."

"I don't think they're talking about sailing." Merrill pointed out, hesitant to voice her suspicion.

"They're just happy to be back together." Varric explained, his shrug accepting the complexities and delirium that accompanied these two women in all their dangerous splendor.

"I'll hold you to that, _Captain_." Hawke released Isabela's wrist with a smug smile of victory. The title lit the pirate's eyes, igniting an almost visible thrill of pleasure.

"Call me that, sweet thing, and you can hold me to anything you like." The sailor purred in return, tongue darting across her lips. The parting shot scored a violent shudder, turning Hawke's triumph into a stubborn tie and the Champion was wise to back away before she lost completely.

"Almost, Cousin," Solona chuckled as Hawke sat down near her, "I met her once a decade ago and even I know better than to try beating her at her own game."

"How about we not talk about my cousin having had an orgy with my girlfriend?" The Champion suggested, smile twisted with irony. Her fingers curled against the stone she sat on, commanding her blood to stop pounding so loud beneath her skin.

"So dramatic," Leliana's musical laugh danced through the air, "Isabela was quite taken with some of the tricks I learned in Orlais. I might teach them to you, if you ask nicely."

"Right, let's not talk about that either." The Hero abruptly found herself agreeing with Hawke's stance. Was it the curse of Amell women to fall for enticingly shameless rogues? Wicked, liberal, teasing, achingly irresistible rogues. Solona and her cousin exchanged a long-suffering glance of mutual sympathy.

"They're being prudish, songbird," Isabela sighed, resting her elbow on Leliana's shoulder, "It's the Ferelden in them. Perhaps we should just leave them to fester while we entertain ourselves?"

"A tempting notion," the bard hummed, her glance enticing the pirate and taunting her love all at once, "But the Chant teaches us that we must be merciful. In the spirit of Andraste's pity, I will decline."

"In the spirit of her magnificently sculpted ass, I'll leave the invitation open for later." Isabela winked and sauntered away. Conveniently back to Hawke. There was a relaxed familiarity in the way the pirate slid so comfortably back into the Champion's space, as though she could leave and come back a hundred times and neither cared about anything other than her return.

* * *

><p>With the latest bout of hormonal manipulation put to rest, Hawke pulled a lump of ore from her satchel. Even wrapped in heavy cloth, the unmistakable glow of raw lyrium made everyone's eyes sting. Solona's vision blurred as she focused on the power source. Merrill had screwed her eyes shut completely.<p>

"I still can't believe you carried it so close to your skin." Isabela's scowl suggested there had been an argument about that as well.

"I've handled lyrium before," Hawke ignored the criticism, "I know what to do to stay safe."

"Just don't expect me to stick around once your tits have blistered off." The pirate folded her arms but held her tongue as the Champion carefully unwrapped the ore.

Exposing the mineral released a pulse of raw magic; Solona recognized the familiar lightheaded sensation. It was nauseating and hungry all at once. The Hero rose to approach the glowing mineral, held back for a split second by a panicked hand on her arm. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Leliana's gemstone eyes wide with concern, lush lip worried under her teeth as she bit back objections. Solona rested a hand on the fingers gripping her arm, squeezing tight before pulling it away.

"Years in the Deep Roads, Leli. How did you think I was getting lyrium? I'll be fine." Solona promised and gathered the cloth with the ore inside, fingers deftly avoiding all contact with the stone.

Holding it through the wrapping she focused on the energy as it warmed her hands. Magic had feelings all its own, changing according to the spell and caster; it wasn't so surprising that the ore that fueled their gifts should also be unique. Refined lyrium was smooth, silken, obedient as it opened paths and amplified powers. The red lyrium, Solona only saw it when she returned to Southern Thedas, that substance radiated blood and pain and it was as close a thing to pure evil as she'd ever conceived. Raw lyrium though . . .

The Hero closed her eyes, seeing beyond the glowing ore and tasting the fluctuations in its shifting color. Raw lyrium fought back. It pulsed and ebbed with a heartbeat all its own, wrapping waves of magic around itself that were slippery, stinging, stubborn. If lyrium was alive – a thought Solona accepted with surprising ease – then it was like the wild dogs of Ferelden, hostile and deadly without reason but capable of being harnessed, trained to perfect service.

The chunk of ore throbbed in her fingers, resisting the push of her will. The Hero had been desperately hoarding her remaining shreds of energy ever since she woke. It would take all she had and more to bend raw lyrium to her spell. She had known she'd need every ounce of stamina and power in her body. She hadn't even stood up for all those hours; hadn't risen to greet the allies, apologize to her cousin, gather Leliana in her arms . . .

A flash of anger coursed from her gut into her blood, igniting in every finger and toe. The universe had a perverse sense of humor, like a bitter noble torturing peasants for being happier than he. A hundred times Solona had drifted to blackness wondering if this would be the last, her eyes doomed to stay closed. A thousand times she'd drawn Leliana's face with her into the dark, clinging to the beauty she'd etched into her memory so that it could be the last thing she would see. To open her eyes and find the reality, the gaze of glittering blue filling her vision; it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Their reunion was meant for warm sheets and candlelight and the time to relearn every inch of skin she trembled to touch.

_Not the Maker-forsaken Deep Roads! _The sheer swell of rage dragged strength from the very edges of her being. Helplessness, frustration, the need to protect, to connect, to save her cousin, punish the wardens, press her lover naked to the ground – A hundred ingredients of passion poured into Solona's magic, gripping the raw lyrium in a suffocation of irresistible will. The ore scorched her fingers and seared a maelstrom of colors into her closed eyes. The tingling pain in her hands began to devour up her arms, the channel opening as power recognized power and flowed together, twining towards the irresistible. It was as strong as she'd hoped, more than she could've expected.

"Get back!" The Hero commanded, voice a spell of thunder that made the stones shudder. If the words weren't warning enough the sudden sight of her eyes filled with the lyrium's own glow certainly was.

The companions all dove for cover, Cassandra and Eve both dragging a resisting Leliana to safety. With a sigh of relief the Hero gave into the magnificent agony of the raw lyrium as it fused to her magic, boiling in her blood like black powder and lightning. White light seeped out of the ore, snaking up her skin like rabid vines. Glowing, blinding, so cold it burned; the magic danced and spun in every direction until with a final cornea-searing flash, it vanished. The dead rock dropped to the floor of the thaig, black and useless.

_One of these days that's going to kill me._ The Hero rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the feel of fresh magic crackling beneath her skin. It was like tight armor, all pressure and tension demanding release. She noticed her allies rising from their scattered points of refuge, blinking as they tried to adjust from the blurring brightness to the lingering gloom.

_One day. But not today._ Solona smiled, spinning her staff once before striking the ground and bathing the area in gentle light. The sound of hurried footsteps brought her around, catching the bard that lunged into her arms. Her fingers dug into Leliana's mail armor, clenching painfully tight because hanging on for dear life was the only way that felt right in this moment. Arms wrapped tight around her neck and shoulders gripped with the same urgency.

"It worked, yes? You are alright?" Leliana leaned back, searching her beloved's face for any sign of injury.

"Better than that," Solona nodded, "Perfect. Everything is finally perfect."

She could taste Leliana's dulcet laugh as it danced across her lips before getting wiped away by a hungry kiss. Softer than she remembered, tender and warm as the memories that flooded her mind with their familiar touch. The teasing play of teeth ripped a gasp from her throat; Leliana seized her advantage, pressing deeper to devour her lover's longing moan.

"Balls. Hawke, this 'no family' rule is bullshit!" Isabela complained, a protest meant in no way to interrupt the very intimate performance.

Cassandra's polite cough, on the other hand, was a reminder that the two women weren't alone and perhaps Solona's hand should come back to somewhere more visible. The mage and bard managed, with a burst of willpower, to pull away and breath. Neither relinquished hold of the other. _How many years has it been?_ Solona shook her head softly in wonder, refusing to surrender her grip lest the twisted workings of fates, demons or damned deities tried to whisk the other woman away once more. The energy coiling in her muscles begged to be used, promising to keep her lover safe and close. Another cough, louder this time, and it sounded distinctly like Hawke.

"Perhaps not quite so perfect, no?" Leliana chuckled into her Hero's ear. On a mission to save lives, in the Deep Roads, with an audience; not exactly ideal but certainly nothing they hadn't done before. The redhead hid her smile by resting against Solona's cheek.

"It's perfect as long as we're together," The warden stubbornly insisted before dropping her voice to a whisper, "I'm not letting you go again."

"You don't have to," Leliana's voice wavered over the gentle assurance and she cleared her throat, pausing to collect her strength, "But can you put me down?"

The Hero looked down in surprise, realizing she'd completely lifted the petite bard off the ground. She'd never been much one for ridiculous gestures but even Solona could appreciate the occasional dramatic flair. _Nothing like fresh magic._ She grinned and gently set Leliana back on her feet, rewarded with a more tender peck on the cheek.

"You're glowing, cousin." Hawke grinned as the mage turned her attention back to their company.

"It's the lyrium." The warden shrugged, easily dismissing the observation. The denial would've been more convincing if she could stop smiling. Or let go of Leliana's hand. She refused to do either so tough shit.

"No, it's really not." Varric refused her casual explanation, clearly reading the radiant pleasure that threatened to engulf them all in a shower of happy, fuzzy rainbows and orgasms.

"I think this is about as normal as we're going to get," Eve interceded before the dwarf could make any further comments, "Shall we go find those wardens before something horribly heroic happens to us all?"

* * *

><p><em>If you enjoy, please let me know with a review. <em>

_Since The DAO warden never had audio dialogue it's more of challenge to find her voice. Hope this isn't too far off from people's expectations._


	18. The Shortest Distance

"How about The People's Saint?" Varric's musing ricocheted off the cavern walls, reaching ahead and behind. If Eve didn't know for a fact that the dwarf was a few people behind her, she'd be convinced he was in three places at once.

"Elves don't have saints." Merrill pointed out, too helpful to be considered arguing.

"The Scourge of the Shems?" Hawke threw in an alternative.

"Isn't that a type of weapon with lots of dangly bits?" Even without being able to see the mage, Trevelyan knew she was frowning in confusion.

"Mmm, they can be very . . . stimulating." Isabela, on the other hand, could wrap every syllable of her words in an invisible smirk. That dreamy sigh at the end would've cost 50 silvers alone.

"Varric?" Eve's curiosity got the better of her.

"The Dalish Enchantress." The dwarf tried once more, too absorbed in the topic to hear the Inquisitor's call.

"She's a blood mage, Varric, not a girl at the Rose." Isabela immediately rejected the offering, proving once again that she had standards for everyone except herself.

"You would know; you've tried them all." The Champion teased, her words followed by a note of scandalous delight from the pirate.

"Hands to yourself, sweets," the scolding sailor purred with approval, "Or I'll make you put them to real use."

"Varric!" Eve forced her voice to drown out anything Hawke might reply.

"Your Worshipfulness?" the dwarf finally acknowledged her demand for attention with a deference so eager it had to be sarcastic.

"What are you all talking about?" Trevelyan asked with her normal volume, trusting Hawke and Isabela were sufficiently interrupted. Their conversation, anyway.

"A title for Merrill. Everyone down here has some special label except her," Varric easily explained, "You're our Lady Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. The Hero of Ferelden up there is walking alongside the Divine – who happens to be her own Left Hand, which should be interesting. Hawke is the Champion of Kirkwall -,"

"Only because Qunaris-Bane didn't stick." The rogue clarified.

"Sounded too much like an herb, Champ," Varric had probably vetoed that title himself, "The Seeker was both the Hero of Orlais _and_ Right Hand of the Divine since she can't do anything halfway. Our depraved pirate is Queen of the Eastern Seas, Admiral of the Raiders and Wanted in at least nine ports."

"More than that, you wooly wonder." Isabela corrected proudly. Wanted could mean so very many things.

"So Merrill needs a title and I'm sure as shit not calling her the Magic Kitten no matter what Rivaini says. Sounds too much like a damned kid's book."

"Nothing you write could ever be confused with children's stories." Cassandra remarked, the blithe but charming taunt a reminder that she wasn't as removed as she liked to pretend.

"I don't think I need a title, Varric," Merrill must have objected and been ignored several times already, "You don't have one."

"I'm the one telling the story, Daisy." The dwarf reminded her – all of them really – that he would craft their tale into whatever shape of adventure he liked.

If he decided they were intrepid heroes then that was what people would hear. If he wanted to turn them into comedic lunatics, he'd have more than enough material. If – Maker Forbid – he focused on crafting a steamy romance serial? He'd probably make ten times more than on all his other books combined. The dwarf had almost total impunity. _Almost._ Eve smiled as she thought of the one trump card: he'd still have to answer to Cassandra.

"Besides it's fun, it passes the time," Hawke elaborated the excuses before dropping her voice so that only Trevelyan could hear, "And it keeps 'Bela distracted from the fact that we're in a tunnel."

"Sweet cheeks, it's a good thing you're so lovely to look at. Because, trust me, you aren't half as clever as you think." Isabela clearly hadn't been fooled. Eve smiled, enjoying the pirate's cunning but also pleased by the show of camaraderie. Taking care of others came in all different sizes; there were grand, life-saving heroics but also small, considerate gestures.

"You're just stubborn, Rivaini. What's there to be upset about?" Varric gestured wide to show the passage walls were inches beyond his fingers, "It's not that small."

"Funny, that's exactly what a soldier said before I laughed him out of my bed." The pirate retorted, bringing snickering laughter from the entire company – even Cassandra's snort of disdain sounded more amused than usual. The Rivaini captain was full of surprises. A fact everyone had been reminded of at an earlier crucial juncture:

_When Warden Amell had said she knew a shortcut to the Disciples' enclave Eve had rather naively assumed she meant one of the many abandoned dwarven roads. The Inquisitor hadn't anticipated it to actually be a path carved through the crags of the earth. They followed the river out of Ortan's Thaig for some hours, often squelching through the freezing water to get around collapsed stone. Then they plunged down scraggy boulders and hoisted themselves up sheer cliff faces until it felt like she'd scaled the Frostbacks underground. _

_When finally the Hero told them to halt, it was a command roared over the noise of a waterfall. The company stood at the edge of a massive reservoir, one fed by the same river they had traipsed in and out of for so long. The pool of water below rippled and splashed but never rose or fell, continuously absorbing all that poured into its hungry, limitless depths. The dark walls of the cistern that rose around them sucked up torchlight, leaving the well an impenetrable black._

_"__It's an old dwarven sluice. It feeds a network of aqueducts that lead to the thaigs," The Warden explained, "The distribution pipes are large enough to walk through."_

_"__Don't you mean swim?" Eve stared down at the water, eyes aching from trying to gauge its depths. The surface of the pool had to be over 50 feet below the ledge they stood on._

_"__The mechanisms are a thousand years older than mankind in Thedas but they still work better than the finest plumbing in Orlais. Once activated, this tank will drain in minutes."_

_"__Activated how?" Hawke joined the Inquisitor and her cousin, equally pensive about the wet pit of death at their feet. _

_"__A lever at the bottom." Solona admitted, apology frowning her mouth._

_"__Shit." Hawke breathed, a sentiment Eve heartily echoed. The black water looked even further away now, and ever so much deeper. How far to the bottom? How long a breath would it take to reach the lever? How much strength to shift it and would there be any air left to swim for the surface or would the icy temperature have already frozen all breath?_

_"__That's the problem with you bloody heroes. Landlocked, every damned one of you." Isabela's sound of scorn accompanied her shedding the load off her back. Shoving her sheathed weapons into Hawke's surprised hands, the sailor clenched a dagger in her teeth and leapt off the edge, arcing into a stunning swan dive that plunged into the water as smooth as the sharp edge of a blade._

_The entire company hadn't even had time to gasp before the pirate vanished into the black pool and now they held their collective breath. The only sound was the continuous, dull rush of the river. Seconds that felt like hours stretched to eternity, Eve's lungs beginning to ache but she couldn't force herself to inhale. Not yet. The blood started hammering behind her eyes and she bit the inside of her mouth, determined not to surrender, not to make a single sound that might distract any of them from their desperately fixed attention. The sudden thudding in her ears felt like a screaming heartbeat but it was followed by the agonized groan of metal. _

_The lever had been thrown._

_Everyone breathed at once, fear and relief mingling in their sighs. The noise of the waterfall was now echoed by the sucking growl of a drain, the entire cistern vibrating as the pool emptied. The water turned to swirls of chaos, twisting and bubbling as a vortex formed in the center. One massive crest of black burst open with dark blue, Isabela's soaked head emerging from the waves. She held against the pull of the whirlpool, her dagger sunk to the hilt in a crack between stones. Looking up at her stunned friends, the pirate used one hand to wipe hair from her face, revealing a shining white grin in a sea of darkness._

_"__You're all a bunch of pussies," she declared, laughter dancing over the water's roar, "And I'll expect to get my due reward from each and every one of you!"_

_"__That woman is really something." Varric marveled, laugh as deep and rumbling as the drain._

_"__Yes, and I think we all know what." Cassandra may have rolled her eyes but even she couldn't keep the glimmer of respect from her tone._

Really, it was no wonder that Isabela was in such high spirits, even while marching through the dripping confines of the narrow aqueduct. She'd successfully inflated her pride and ego to the point no tunnel would be crushing her any time soon.

* * *

><p>When the company of explorers finally reached the end of the aqueduct they emerged to a wilderness of ruins that reminded Eve of the Hissing Wastes, vestiges of dwarven greatness obscured by centuries of changing earth. Stone structures ruptured out of the craggy ground but not in any recognizable pattern. They had passed from the part of the empire lost to blights to the edge of their civilization abandoned long before. Just not so abandoned as the Inquisition and allies might wish.<p>

"Darkspawn." The Warden stated quietly, unstrapping her staff. Eve squinted into the distance, looking for any sign of fires or activity. There wasn't even the noise of snarls or grunts that heralded an attacking horde.

"Where?" she turned in every direction, confused to what sign the Hero had found.

"I can hear them," Solona brushed her fingers over the griffin crest of her armor, the unconscious gesture an explanation in itself, "They're just over the third rise."

"If you can hear them that means they can hear you." Leliana had already notched an arrow, eyes narrowing for battle.

"They're too busy hunting the rebels. One warden is nothing compared to nearly a hundred." The warden led their quiet charge to the crest of a crumbled monolith.

Eve drew her sword and heard echoing metal whispers from the fighters at her side as blades sighed gratefully out of their sheaths. A brief glance to Cassandra caught the Seeker's determined expression, the set of her jaw disciplined but with eagerness flaring in the color of her eyes. There was a tiny, winding, mechanical sound; Bianca primed for the fight, gears and levers taut and ready to sing at her master's touch. Everyone felt the prickling sensation along the hair of their necks, the two mages already wrapping magic around themselves and summoning spells.

"Two side attack? Cassandra can lead Hawke, Varric and Merril." Trevelyan felt her heart-rate speeding like a wolf on the scent of blood. In their company of eight were two warriors, two mages, two archers and two rogues; it was pure instinct to break into flanking squads. Isabela might not be thrilled to be separated from Hawke but they'd undoubtedly find each other in the fracas and still fight side by side. Truthfully, Eve fully expected to do the same with Cassandra, they always seemed to target the same enemies and end up together. She didn't care how the allies united, so long as the darkspawn were caught in-between.

"On your mark." Warden Amell agreed, using little more than hand signals to separate the fighters into their teams.

"Right. Let's Have Some FUN!" Eve's battle cry might not have sounded terrifying but the sheer roar of enthusiasm that echoed her words would've made Qunaris run for cover. The fighters lunged from hiding, descending on the surprised enemy horde like the Maker's own pinching fingers.

Darkspawn weren't half so terrifying as Eve had imagined before the Inquisition. She'd envisioned monsters with lots of armor, pointy bits and drool. In that much she'd been right. But from the first battle in Valamaar she'd been stunned to find they weren't the merciless killing machines she'd always imagined. They were savage and aggressive brutes, to be sure; but so frenzied, so mindless in their violence that it was surprising they remembered to attack humans and not each other.

The challenge in battling the blighted was not in avoiding just death but all wounds completely. In that sense, fighting the darkspawn was a test of epic proportions. Anyone could absorb blows and then lay waste to enemies; it took skill to evade every sharpened blade, every clawing fist. Eve's blood sang in her ears as she slashed and dodged between swinging swords. Don't get stabbed. Don't get cut. Don't let the damned blight into your blood. The edge of her greatsword sliced through corrupt flesh, plunging deep in unprotected bodies or piercing weak armor. An unholy chorus of inhuman shrieks rose not just from before her blade but on all sides.

The Inquisitor smiled as she heard the triumphant yells of her company, the arrogant trash talk of ego and victory.

"One more for me. We're keeping score, right?" Hawke called out as a genlock dropped at her feet, throat spurting blood like a broken pipe.

"Oh, I got one!" Merrill shouted back, the crackle of her lightning spell illuminating the bones of a falling foe.

"Another one for me! How many have you got, Hawke?" Varric's boisterous cry answered his friend's.

"One less!" came the gleeful reply as yet another darkspawn howl ended in gurgling silence.

"Who's next?" Isabela laughed after slaying two enemies and vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

"Maker take you!" Cassandra's oath promised she was enjoying herself every bit as much as the others.

Leliana and Solona were both almost terrifyingly quiet, the warden felling her enemies like plucking flowers from the ground. Any darkspawn that got too close to the mage erupted in arrows and blood before reaching within an arm and a half of her person. The Hero paced forward, every step laborious as she dragged magic across the floor of the ruins and swept away panicked opponents.

"They're retreating!" The Inquisitor shouted as her blade slashed air where a hurlock had been.

"No! Do not let them escape!" The warden commanded, swinging her staff in the air, creating an arc of charging magic that built noise and power before slamming into the ground.

Eve felt the quake spell rupturing beneath her feet. Shouting for her allies to flee, she rushed across the shattering and dancing rocks. Solona's magic ate across the surface of the ground, stone fracturing in every direction like glass. Eve dove to the solid earth and rolled, clambering to her hands and knees in time to watch the entire floor of their battlefield severe from its foundation and hover into the air.

"One more!" Hawke swung a round house kick into her current enemy, flinging him through space to land roughly in the center of the already wounded and disoriented horde. The mass of stone began to speed into the air.

"Shit, Rivaini! Move!" Varric's shout screamed with panic. Eve climbed to her feet, spotting the pirate still in the midst of the airborne army. Rocks crumbled away beneath their feet but the patch of ground rose irrevocably higher and with unmistakable speed.

"Stop! Isabela's up there!" Hawke raced to her cousin, trying to break the spell.

"I can't!" The warden was just as stunned by the cataclysmic effect of the unleashed magic. The power she'd absorbed from the raw lyrium was desperate for release, barely controlled in any spell.

"Jump! 'Bela! Jump!" Merrill screamed as loud as she could over the noise of the groaning rocks and terrified darkspawn. Loud enough, it seemed. The Rivaini captain leapt out into space, sailing into the empty air, headed for the unforgiving ruins below.

"Not on Andraste's ass." Eve raced forward, pulling slack from her grappling line and flinging the chain into the air.

The hook sailed true and wrapped around the falling pirate. Hawke was right beside her, both pulling with all their might to correct the suicidal tangent. Isabela was yanked from the air like a bird by a dragon's breath. Tugged so violently the sailor crashed into the waiting fighters, tethered by the Inqusitor's chain. Both were knocked head over heels by the force of the impact but the grappling line dragged Isabela to rest atop the fallen warrior. In the panic of allies swarming to check their friends, no one noticed the slab of stone smashing clear into the ceiling, eliminating the last of the darkspawn threat.

"Why didn't you tell me this is how you like it, you wicked thing? We could've been having fun ages ago!" Isabela rustled the chain around her waist and smiled down at the pinned Inquisitor, tracing a teasing finger over her lips.

"'Bela." The Champion breathed as she neared, more chuckle than sigh. Cassandra was on her heels, already kneeling to help Eve to her feet. Unfortunately, the woman was still held down by a pirate enjoying their position.

"You said no family, Hawke. There isn't a drop of Ferelden in this one. She's fair game." Isabela argued, all the pout in her lips of a child being asked to surrender a toy.

"That isn't for you to decide." Proud anger washed through Cassandra's tone, every word carrying the sharp threat of a blade.

"What? No. That's cheating," the Rivaini rose to her feet to protest, "You aren't allowed to be exclusive already. You don't buy a ship before riding the deck. Maker's Balls! That's beyond monogamous, it's a crime!"

"Isabela, do you even know what monogamy means?" Warden Amell wondered with doubt. Eve was only partially paying attention, more interested in the strength of the Seeker's arm pulling her upright, the hands checking her for injury. Did Cassandra's concerned grip feel a trifle more possessive?

"Travel is an education in itself, sweets. It's a combination of two words. 'Mono' meaning one and 'gamous' meaning all the sweaty, naked fun you can think of." Isabela airily replied, the loss of her near-acquisition already fading from her mind.

"Terrible as it is, it still sounds correct." Leliana observed, deviance turning her mouth to a smile. The expression vanished with the sudden clatter of an empty helmet dropping beside the bard's feet. Everyone's eyes dragged inexorably upwards. The slab of shattered rock had all fallen back to the ground in a ravage of crumbled stone. Above them, however, remained the last of the darkspawn horde, smashed to the cavern roof as little more than smears of metal and blood. Leliana turned piercing blue eyes to the warden, color alive with impressed delight.

"Show off." The smiling redhead chided, looping her arm through the warden's to resume their journey.

* * *

><p><em>Please, keep reviewing! It's more help than you can imagine.<em>


	19. Patience

Two more darkspawn packs attacked the Inquisitor and her companions. The Hero was more careful in her magical warfare but was adamant not a single blighted enemy could be allowed to survive. Tainted creatures never truly yielded; if they retreated it would merely be to hunt from a distance, awaiting a weak moment to attack.

"If they followed us, they'd find the enclave and then that information would spread to all the other darkspawn. Every horde beneath Ferelden would likely descend on the Disciples to wipe them out." The warden explained the situation as the company stood on a broken ledge overlooking a desolate road. It wound lazily to terminate in the clustered ruin of a small city, partially dug out. There was a lingering smell of fire in the air but no stirrings of life from the decrepit refuge.

"And we want all darkspawn dead except them?" Hawke was nonplussed with the idea. Tainted was tainted – kill anything corrupted to prevent the spread. The Champion could feel the presence of the blighted creatures in the prickle on the back of her neck. Not everyone had to be a warden to sense darkspawn, some just had to have spent enough time in the Roads.

"They are different from the others," Solona shrugged, the simplest explanation often the best, "That alone makes them a subject for study. More importantly, if they're obliterated we may lose our key to The Calling."

The reminder of that greater purpose settled some of Hawke's bubbling venom. The entrenched desire to slay darkspawn was only a shadow of her instinctive drive to protect. To find an end to The Calling? To free the wardens from their fate and let them come home? What wouldn't she risk for such a gift? Hawke would do anything to save her sister, including spare the lives of tainted enemies.

"But we know the wardens have already attracted the attention of other darkspawn. It could just as easily be them that lead those enemies here." Cassandra voiced the secondary threat. The Inquisitor saw a subtle flash of Solona's eyes toward the endangered enclave. That spark of genuine concern was fascinatingly out of place on the face of the Hero who ended a Blight. Was she really only worried about using these freed 'spawn for a cure?

"So, we need to keep the rebels from reaching the Disciples. If that road is their only way in it won't be hard." The Champion nodded to the path below. It was closed in on one side by the subterranean mountain they stood on now. Open waste lay in the other direction but was dotted with lumbering ruins, plenty of easy cover.

"Eight of us against a force nearly 100 strong? We're going to have to box them in." Eve didn't like the odds of breakaway combatants running away to regroup. She also didn't like the feeling that Warden Amell wasn't telling them everything. She couldn't read the woman as easily as her own friends but there was a discomfort in her posture, a tension in her shoulders weighted by unspoken burden.

"Don't forget the hostages." Varric reminded the leaders unnecessarily; no one was forgetting the entire reason they were here.

"Four choke points then," Solona nodded, pulling all the facts into a single strategy, "Two here on the mountain and two behind the ruins below. An ambush will cut them from moving forward or back."

"Why not simply wait within the Disciples' nest?" Eve kept her eyes fixed on the Warden, waiting for the slightest twitch of thought or emotion. If she'd learned to read Leliana by her silences, she could damn well take a stab at this mage's secrets.

"If the wardens get that close, it will be too late." The Hero didn't flinch from the question or the penetrating gaze trying to pierce her mind. The answer was blunt and honest, a statement of absolute fact that still didn't hint at any truth. The real reply was in Solona's expression, a silent assurance that she'd understood everything the Inquisitor wanted to know. The barest tilt of her chin was all the answer Eve needed to see; a promise that there was, indeed, more to discuss.

"So we're going to be tucked away behind the cover of those ruins, hidden completely from view for Maker-Knows how long?" Isabela contemplated the plan, already wrapping an arm around Hawke's waist, "Sounds brilliant to me."

"Do you not think of _anything_ else?" Cassandra demanded. They were on the brink of catching the army they'd tracked for days; one the pirate had tracked for weeks. The taste of blood and metal was at the tip of every tongue, fists and muscles all clenching in anticipation of hard wrought victory. The silent energy of battle charged the very air. And the woman couldn't pull her mind from the gutter for three minutes?

"Of course I do, prissy knickers. But I don't see much chance of gold anywhere down here so I'll have to be happy with giggles." Isabela breezily replied, reveling in the Seeker's scorn.

"Since an ambush depends on coordinated attack, I think it will be best to make sure no one is," The Warden's tongue tested several different words before finding the right one, "Distracted. Cassandra, you'll go with Hawke."

"Hmmm, try not to have too much fun without me," Isabela sighed theatrically, "I suppose I'll just have to make do with some other company."

There was far too much relish in the curve of the pirate's lips as she raked her eyes first over Leliana and then the Inquisitor. That gaze dragged over Eve's skin like a hand reaching beneath her clothes. Even though the warrior had expected as much and braced herself, she still felt her blood pressure spike under the nearly physical scrutiny.

"Inquisitor, with me?" Solona's cool tone swept away the heat of the sailor's stare. Eve gave a tight nod, careful to not be too enthusiastic with her relief. Isabela could read the triumph of her seductions as easily in retreat as surrender.

"Let me have the songbird, Warden. I promise to leave a few notes for you." The sailor narrowed in on the only remaining prey. Leliana gave a gentle laugh, the patient shake of her head no more offended than tempted. One bewitching siren knows the voice of another and they can be immune to each other's call.

"Leliana, you go with Merrill." Solona nodded to her bard, curbing a smile at the pirate's noise of irritated protest.

"Lovely," Merrill bounced slightly on her heels, "Do you think you could teach me to sing too?"

"No!" Hawke, Amell and Varric all instantly replied, shouts a touch louder than necessary. Eve would have joined the objection but was too busy choking on shock.

"I suppose you two rogues can't do too much harm together." Cassandra looked skeptically at the last two allies left.

"You haven't seen the Hanged Man after we've had a weekend binge." Varric shot back with a wink to his Rivaini collaborator.

"Having a threesome with Bianca _has_ been on my list for a while." Isabela's smile was beyond incorrigible, as was the rest of her.

Inquisitor Trevelyan watched the assigned duos slip quietly away to their posts. It would be easy to think the Warden's only strategy in dividing them thus was to prevent distracting indulgences and misbehavior. Studying each team, Eve quickly realized an even wiser precaution had been involved. Hawke, Varric, Leliana and Amell herself had all spent ample time in the Deep Roads. The Hero had deliberately split up the most experienced darkspawn fighters, distributing their skills for a balanced attack.

"You know, Warden, I already found you damned impressive," The Inquisitor remarked offhandedly, "Now you're just moving into awe."

"Don't be too amazed. I started working that out the minute you all showed up. Isabela and Leliana alone together? I'd sooner lose my staff up an ogre's ass." The mage's dry chuckle was as easy and pleasant as herself. It was hard to believe such an open and comfortable person could be keeping secrets but Eve knew it wasn't only for strategic reasons that she'd been kept at the Hero's side.

"So what is it you weren't telling us about these Disciples?" Trevelyan spoke once she was sure the others were beyond earshot. The Warden was silent, the question turning over and around in her thoughts.

"Tell me, Inquisitor," She finally began to reply, all at once weary with unspoken concerns, "Tell me everything you understand about darkspawn."

* * *

><p>Cassandra knelt behind the jutting edge of a crumbled wall. From this vantage she could watch for the distant wardens' approach. Seekers spend a full year in isolated fasting, prayer and meditation. Staying in a single position, focused on one task for a few hours was nothing by comparison. It had often been whispered that the most talented assassins in Thedas weren't the bards or crows or even House of Repose but the Seekers of Truth themselves. Who else could stay completely still for days, invisible to the world as they lay in wait for a mark to cross into the sights of their bow?<p>

Engrained training slowed the Seeker's breathing, her heart rate becoming little more than the lazy rhythm of deep sleep. She stopped her mind, silencing the noise of thought and turning control over to only her senses, tendrils of vigilance spreading out like a web. In this state she could forget any need of food or water for days. She could forget about anything other than the mission.

Except she couldn't quite forget the gleam in Isabela's eyes when she'd looked at Trevelyan. It made her fists clench even now, a bloom of heat opening from her stomach that burned clear to her face. The irrational flashes of anger that had burst over her and washed away sense so sporadically throughout these past days had left her confused and frustrated. They didn't suddenly coalesce into a clear picture until the dark skinned pirate had pinned the Inquisitor to the ground, a hold evocative of their own sparring games.

"You know, the last time I left Isabela and Varric alone together they ended up betting 400 gold, her smalls and Bianca's bowstring all on one roll of dice. Of course, they both cheated so it came out a draw." Hawke was seated against the stone wall, her head tilted back and eyes roving the ceiling as she mused.

Mention of the pirate's name snapped Cassandra completely out of the quiet discipline she'd been struggling to maintain.

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" The Seeker demanded, a little more sharply than she may have intended. She folded the spike of irritation back into herself; the pirate wasn't even here.

"Sure it does. It was my gold." Hawke chuckled, her easy shrug promising that if she'd lost the money it would have become an even better story.

"Not that," Cassandra sighed, knowing the rogue's mind wasn't following the tone of her question, "Isabela. The way she is. Everything she says and does feels like it is deliberately designed to drive everyone to the point of madness and yet you never seem to care."

"I don't?" Hawke straightened, fully serious, "Did you not read the part in Varric's book about the size of that damned Arishok's sword? Two fingers to the left and I'd be a pretty torso on wheels. That's not the sort of thing you face if you don't care about someone. A lot."

"I mean that you never get upset. She is the most relentlessly dissolute woman I have ever seen. She flirts with any soul that wanders into view and cannot seem to think beyond her next indulgence without any particular concern for who or what it may be. Yet none of it bothers you."

"That's Isabela," Hawke shrugged, affection curling her smile at the description, "She's actually calmed down quite a bit. I used to have to pay the entire staff of the Rose to take the night off so I could keep her to myself. Even then I think she would take off before dawn and shag a drunk or two just to keep up appearances."

"And you simply accept it," Cassandra wasn't sure if she was filled with wonder or pity, "If she is so shameless in your presence, don't you wonder what happens when you are apart? Who she may be with?"

"Sometimes. Particularly if it's a lonely night and I want to entertain myself," Hawke grinned at the woman's disgusted grumble, "I'm not really given to jealousy, Seeker. Which is a damned good thing. If I were, I'd have been forced to kill most of Kirkwall and that just sounds exhausting. I never thought of Isabela as jealous either. Not until we met Tallis – Maker, that was fun! She gets the most beautiful flash of anger in her eyes when she's feeling territorial. The sort of look that promises she's going to stab everyone present and cut my clothes off with the bloody dagger."

"Heartwarming." The warrior rolled her eyes, giving up on any chance of a serious answer. Understanding the paradox of their nonchalant but obsessive romance clearly wouldn't come from any kind of sensible conversation. The Champion watched Cassandra settle back into her patient guard stance, resuming the task of waiting for battle. Hawke liked all kinds of games but she also knew when it was time to stop playing.

"Seeker, I know we must seem to have a very odd relationship. I doubt this will make sense but the fact that others find Isabela desirable doesn't make me want her less, it just makes me work harder to keep her mine. Which she is." The rogue offered her explanation with simple sincerity. She spoke with the calm conviction of a woman who'd pondered these thoughts hundreds of times and grown comfortable with the truth.

"You sound like you have tremendous faith in her. Even when she's a . . ." Cassandra hesitated, fighting her instinctive vocabulary out of respect. Hawke smirked, taking pity on the struggling warrior.

"I believe the word you're avoiding is 'whore.' She isn't, actually, since they take money. Isabela is more of a slattern. Aveline couldn't keep them straight either," the rogue chuckled fondly before turning serious once more, "I do trust her. Completely. She can wander where she likes and play with whomever she wants because she'll inevitably come back to me. I'm the one she wants to be with and I know that we'll always find our way together again. I mean, you're sitting here in the Deep Roads right now because of that fact."

"A valid point," Cassandra wryly admitted agreement, "And this has been your relationship for how long?"

"Seven years. Off and on, of course. One of us off on some ridiculous adventure and the other right on her tail." Hawke's roving gaze took in the still darkness of their stone surroundings, a breath of laughter in her words as fate repeated itself yet again.

"It is impressive. I couldn't imagine being content with such an understanding and yet it seems to have worked perfectly for you." The Seeker pushed honest meaning into her words. She didn't envy the two women the relationship they'd chosen, but she could truly admire their loyalty.

"Well, perfect might be a stretch." The Champion grew uncomfortable with the warmth of the praise. She was a master bluffer, liar and fabricator of tales when needed; but her honest streak tended to assert itself at awkward times.

"So there _is_ something that bothers you!" Cassandra leaned back in relieved triumph. It was too much to think that these rogues were paragons of romance.

"She's the most damnably stubborn woman I've ever known," Hawke raked fingers through her hair, shoving unconsciously at her own frustration, "I think she's convinced the instant she uses the word 'love' I'm going to whip out a ring and chain her to the kitchen."

"All this time and she hasn't said it?" The Seeker couldn't conceal her surprise. A surprise that faded as she thought more carefully. Isabela's blasphemous passions were loud and abundant but hardly romantic. Perhaps it wasn't in her nature. Or perhaps she simply didn't trust herself with such emotions. No one avoided an expression for seven years unless it was tied to something deep in their heart. Who knew the meaning of a word more closely? The lover who uses it every day or the cynic who won't let it cross their lips?

"It's not such a big thing. Obviously I know how she feels," the rogue shrugged, curbing her own disappointment and turning to wistful memory, "It's only that it was our first fight. Flaming Ass, what a night! Our first tumble and then this sudden threat that if I start dragging love into the picture she'll drop me like a hot copper. It took four years for her to cave in enough to admit she had feelings. Four Maker-Damned years. Now we're pushing eight and I just want this fight closed. There are so many more important ones to move onto! Hating each other's jobs, which friends we don't like, where to take a winter holiday, who's been letting the dog get spoiled . . ."

The list of potential arguments faded into Hawke's thoughts as she went silent, watching the Seeker for her reaction. Cassandra never knew what to believe when rogues were talking. They all could say one thing and mean another and none of it really made sense. Right now, the sparkle in the Champion's eye was a dozen amusements at once and every one of them played across her smile. Whatever else the Seeker might think, Hawke was clearly happy.

"I cannot decide if you are very fortunate or completely insane." Cassandra finally concluded with a shake of her head. Some things truly were beyond her grasp.

"Life works best when you're both." Hawke's easy reply took both ends of the spectrum and tied them into a neat, happy bow.

* * *

><p>For nearly 400 years, the darkspawn had faded from the minds of people in Thedas. They were kept alive in history and horror stories, in tales of adventurers who wandered into the Deep Roads or unfortunate wayfarers attacked in some distant remove. They were bogeymen for scaring children (<em>'Eat your greens so you can grow strong and fight darkspawn,' 'go too close to those woods and a hurlock will grab you'<em>) and a warning for keeping the faithful in line ('_Pride caused the Blight,' 'magic is the source of evil,' 'The Old Gods bring only death and destruction; all praise the Maker_') but most of all? They were someone else's problem.

Inquisitor Trevelyan had grown up without even a passing thought of the darkspawn. She learned enough about the four blights to please her history tutors and make sense of the Chant's doctrine but after that it never crossed her mind. When Ferelden was overwhelmed and nearly fell to Urthemiel's hordes, Eve was old enough to understand that an ancient terror had arisen and could threaten the world. She was also young enough to believe it didn't affect her in the slightest. Ferelden was across the Waking Sea and might as well have been a world away. People in Ostwick whispered news of the blight in much the same way they talked about an ailing relative: a worrisome sadness but ultimately remote.

(Two of her brothers tried to run away to join the fight but they never even made it to the pier. One was forcibly conscripted into the Ostwick army and the other rapidly married off, thus agreeably distracted from suicidal pursuits. Eve herself was too busy training for the Grand Tourney, otherwise she might have entertained the same impulsive notion to go chasing adventure.)

The Fifth Blight never reached beyond Ferelden thanks to the Grey Wardens, a particular hero and a band of brave souls that no mother would actually want her child to become. Orlais, the kingdom closest to the overwhelmed country, sent aid but also frantically reinforced their borders. The Free Marches took in refugees until the seams of their cities burst and then blamed the blighted dog-lovers for destroying their land. Fereldens were scattered across Southern Thedas, each dragging with them tales of ravages and destruction and death and always that same haunting truth that no one wants to say but cannot help hearing: it could've been you, it could've been anyone.

But it wasn't. It was over. Life went on. Darkspawn in tunnels beneath your feet weren't as real a threat as the apostate hiding next door. Gradually not even the Fereldens wanted to keep talking about what they'd escaped. The darkspawn returned to being vague ideas in everyone's mind, including Eve Trevelyan's. They were abstract monsters. Little more than poisonous animals to the minds of anyone who'd never met them face to face. After battling them in person, the Inquisitor was even less certain how such creatures had ever managed to bring Ferelden – a kingdom built of Alamarri pride and violent independence – to its knees.

She endeavored to explain this to the Warden at her side as they crouched in patient wait. There was no sight of the other three duos hidden along the road. They were, however, occasionally audible; as when Varric announced that Isabela wasn't allowed to cut off any more of his chest hair.

The Hero listened to all Eve had to say, nodding for the most part but frowning where history was either wrong or ignored. She then began to carefully, methodically, _completely_ reeducate the Inquisitor on everything she thought she knew about darkspawn.

They were like beasts but far more dangerous. Animals hunt and kill to survive, the darkspawn do not care about such trivialities. Their purpose is to heed the Calling, to follow the dragon song and find the Old Gods and die for their mission. The taint, its curse and connection to the ancient ones, that was the whole of their existence. No food, no rest, no homes; only themselves and the song.

"Now, imagine such creatures and take away their gods." Solona continued to guide Eve's thoughts around the strange shape of something new.

"It would make them harmless, wouldn't it?" Trevelyan hazarded. If blights were caused by Old Gods and the darkspawn themselves were driven by their call, getting rid of the gods was the ultimate solution. It seemed so simple and yet that was the horrifically mistaken idea that had led the wardens to drastic consequences.

"Have you seen what happens to men who lose their faith? Armies betrayed or abandoned by their leaders?" The Hero's voice was hollow with pity but bitter nonetheless, "Harmless is the last word I would use."

"Desperate. And confused." Eve thought of the despondency that had set in after the destruction of Haven. The Inquisition could have crumbled in those fragile days if not for Mother Giselle and Solas. In their own way they both made her appreciate what it meant to lead an army. She wasn't simply directing people, she was guiding a cause.

"Darkspawn are more aware than animals. That is why they need to do more than merely survive. They need to serve. The Architect didn't understand that when he began giving them free will, he thought liberation from the Calling was all it would take to end the carnage. He failed. All his efforts simply divided the freed spawn into two new camps: the Disciples led by him and the ones that followed the Mother. You see, even with free will the dark spawn need masters." The Warden frowned as she recalled yet another mess that had fallen to her to clean up.

The Architect might have had good motives but he was a blighted monster in his own right. So eager to save his kind and usher in a new era that he risked destroying everyone – first with plans to unleash the taint on all Thedas and then by corrupting Urthemiel himself in his own mistaken bid to end the dragon's song. He hadn't grasped that even if he silenced all the gods, the darkspawn would simply turn to his voice instead.

"I thought they had masters in their packs, those massive brutes with the hammers?" Eve vividly recalled the world exploding into lights and pain when a particularly vicious blow from such a giant had flung her across the dark chambers in Valamaar.

"Alphas," The warden nodded, clearly remembering her own bone-shattering encounters, "Big bastards. They dominate their mobs but they aren't leaders. Spawn will follow an alpha out of fear, not loyalty."

"So the Disciples follow this Architect? That has to be better than spending all their time seeking the Old Gods." The Inquisitor was reasonably certain that the core doctrine of the Chantry was 'The Old Gods Are Bad.' Bad and Dangerous and Evil and Not Real but still Really Bad. Anything that wasn't them had to be better, right?

"If only it were that simple," Solona frowned, "The Architect is gone. The freed darkspawn have been granted the gift of free will but have no purpose, no instructions and no leader. They are lost."

"Like mankind and the Maker." Eve muttered the irony.

"Just so. And what has man done in that absence?" The Hero nudged her audience's mind further along the path.

"Anoint prophets," Trevelyan grimaced, she'd fought becoming a symbol but it was impossible to deflect belief, "Make up rules, declare holy wars. Eventually they'll probably raise new gods and start over."

"Which is what the Disciples have done. Their longing to serve reached into the Fade," the mage could actually see realization on Eve's face before voicing the inevitable, "It attracted a demon."

"Of course it did. Because rebels and darkspawn weren't enough of a problem. There had to be a demon involved just to make things interesting." The Inquisitor sighed, making a mental note to scream 'fuck you too' at the universe as soon as they were out of here.

"He guards the ruined city, protecting the Disciples and feeding off their worship. That's why we have to keep everyone out. If any wardens or darkspawn cross into the refuge he'll see it as an attack on his followers and ultimately himself." Amell finally unloaded the burden of knowledge that had been forming lines around her eyes.

"And demons are so reasonable about those things," Trevelyan muttered, "What kind of demon is he? Just in case."

Just in case the dramatic finger of life did the same thing it had done a hundred times before.

"A rare type of pride demon. Most are corruptions of wisdom. Heresy is twisted from a spirit of belief." The Warden's words were worn from irony. Heroes all knew about belief.

Eve felt fate's own sense of sarcastic humor cackling in the air. Faith was a dangerous thing. She had seen firsthand that it could shape the destiny of an entire world, for deliverance or destruction. Pride demons fed on individuals and grew massive in the power of themselves; what happened when a similar creature fed on many and grew from their shared thoughts?

"I suppose I could start believing really hard that I like darkspawn." The Inquisitor pursed her lips. Was faith measured more by intensity or duration? She had some vague idea that a lot of pain had to be involved. That wouldn't be hard to come by, given their circumstances.

"Well, if you intend to say any prayers on the subject, do it now." Amell smirked, nodding to hints of movement in the distance.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are enthusiastically appreciated.<em>

_Two quick questions that were raised by readers:_

_1 - all the heroes are named by canon; Solona Amell, Marian Hawke and Evelyn Trevelyan_

_2 - This story assumes the Architect is still alive but that decision doesn't really impact the plot._


	20. Then There Were Three

Grey Wardens were some of the most powerful, skilled and deadly fighters in Thedas. They had been for thousands of years. A regiment devoted to fighting the greatest evil mankind had ever known, they were honed into an ultimately undefeatable army. Not only did they come from every possible background – elven, dwarf, human, mage, warrior, rogue, noble, templar, criminal – they were trained by the best. They became the best.

Even injured and weary the rebel wardens were ten times more dangerous than any horde of darkspawn, a hundred times deadlier than ordinary foes. As Leliana had observed: men and women who were already dead held nothing back in battle. To think of such an army, a hundred strong, being halted (let alone attacked) by a mere eight fighters was ludicrous. But for all their experience and ability, the wardens were at a disadvantage. Hurlocks couldn't aim with the merciless precision of an Orlesian Bard or execute the power of Bianca's sophisticated springs. Emissaries had never plunged into the world of a maleficar and learned blood magic forward and back before mastering the most dangerous Dalish spells. Shreiks couldn't vanish and reappear in a hail of spattering blood as if it was just another night in darktown's alleys. No Alpha, no matter how big his hammer, could match the relentless brute force of an indignant Seeker. To top it all, no Grey Warden army had ever faced the wrath of three heroes at once. They didn't stand a chance.

Hawke's daggers sliced through armor and flesh indiscriminately, slipping and dodging around confused and enraged defenses. With one ear she listened for Isabela's voice, tracking her lover's victorious progress by the distance and volume of her oaths. The rebels had put the hostages in the middle of their squadron, protected on every side by layers of armed and desperate fighters. Those defenses were shredding like Orlesian gift paper before the Champion's blades as she wove through attacks, never losing sight of a familiar head of black hair.

The wardens were shouting orders back and forth at each other, panic building in each command as the wounded fell aside and the strong were forced back. Eve had never seen the final stages of the taint, she had no idea what the hideous discoloration was that marred the faces of the men and women that fell to her sword. Except each time they fell they rose again. Wardens were meant to be unstoppable. They were the irresistible force that warred against an immovable Blight and it was always their strength that won.

"They've accelerated the taint." Cassandra's horrified explanation reached the Inquisitor as yet another enemy staggered back to his feet from what should have been a death wound. Eve sent him down again – this time without his head. _Get up again now, you stubborn shite!_

Along the barren road the noise of clashing weapons and armor filled the air, ricocheting off the mountain and ruins and bouncing back to build the cacophony of a war waging in every direction at once. Solona could barely hear her allies over the clash of metal and dying screams. Bit by bit they pierced into the wardens' ranks; the sharp edge of throwing daggers puncturing a body from every direction at once, provoking defensive spasms of violence, paralyzing movement. The rush of adrenaline hammering in her blood nearly deafened her ears. She heard it nonetheless: the buzzing. The chaotic, resonant noise of a hundred minds unified to a single song.

"Darkspawn!" Varric's shout was taken up and echoed by allies and enemies alike, hostages and captors all passing the desperate warning ahead. The horde must have been close on the heels of the rebels, awaiting their opportune moment for attack. Here it was. An army of enemies consumed with killing one another and scrambling to turn their defense. The first genlocks that came loping up the road were a mass of stooped muscle and bestial rage.

"The ruins! Retreat to the city!" the roared command had to have come from the rebel leader. The wardens all rushed to follow, abandoning hostages and making for the safe haven regardless of Solona and Eve's shouted warnings.

"Bethany!" Hawke plunged into the mob of captives, slicing through her bindings. The younger sister didn't even acknowledge her rescuer, eyes solely focused on a warden running away. The mage raced after her target, leaping and tackling him to the ground before emerging atop the stunned warrior, pure venom in her eyes. One fierce blow nearly knocked him senseless.

"Never take a mage's weapon!" Bethany growled, yanking her staff from the reeling warden. Climbing to her feet the younger Hawke spat on her captor. Then, for good measure, she slammed the blunt end of her staff into his balls. The agonized warden managed only a strangled warble of noise before he passed out. Turning back to the Champion, Bethany brushed her hair away from eyes radiant with thrilled pleasure.

"Figured I'd be seeing you soon, Sis. Brought friends?" The mage winked, blocking an incoming sword and sweeping the attacker's feet off the ground.

"They show up on their own." Hawke shook her head, returning her sister's smile before stabbing her daggers into the belly of an aggressive Hurlock. The two Hawke women never looked more alike than in the middle of bloody chaos.

"You know we'd hate to miss the party, Sunshine." Varric called, tossing Bethany a cocky wave. The mage waved back and then resumed laying waste to enemies tearing around them.

Gradually the flow of violence began to change in rhythm and shape. Darkspawn overwhelming their position from the rear, wardens fleeing ahead – the battle was quickly unraveling in two directions at once and Eve's company couldn't contain it. Their numbers weren't enough for both. Thank the Maker they didn't have to be.

"Weapons! All of you!" Cassandra raced along the captive wardens, severing their ties. The hostages needed no further encouragement, grabbing up arms from their fallen captors and charging instinctively towards the oncoming blighted horde.

"The wardens are getting away!" Hawke turned away from the darkspawn, eyes fixed on the retreating enemies. They'd reached the perimeter of the Disciples' refuge and plunged through.

_That's bad._ Eve started to race after the Champion, to yell at her not to follow. Even if she screamed at the top of her lungs Hawke wouldn't hear it over the raging pulse of anger in her ears.

"The bastards have an Omega!" Solona recognized a hulking figure that stalked like a nightmare through the morass of oncoming darkspawn.

_Very bad. _The Inquisitor turned back. She'd only heard legends of Omegas, blighted monsters so powerful they decimated all the rest of their own tainted kind.

"What in the Maker's Name-?" Cassandra's shock quickly turned to horror, "That's a rock wraith!"

_Shit loads of badness. _Eve's feet twisted once more, pulling her around so fast her neck ached from the whiplash.

"Heresy." Solona clarified, the name bitter on her tongue.

The heroes and allies couldn't tear their eyes away as the stone monster rose from the Disciples' ruins, assembling itself into a tower of hateful glowing rock. The demon - _Who Amell neglected to mention had possessed a damned Ancient Rock Wraith! – _swiped a massive limb sideways, flinging half a dozen of the fleeing rebels across the abandoned city like droplets of water sprayed from damp hands.

"Those bastards are mine!" Hawke's infuriated yell was actually indignant as she ran into the refuge, diving straight through the legs of the wraith to pursue her quarry. Isabela cursed passionately but followed on the Champion's heels, Varric not far behind. The roar of Heresy bellowed out, challenging all comers and the darkspawn horde answered in kind, rampaging forward once more.

"Hawke has the rebels. I'll deal with the darkspawn – mages to me! Inquisitor?" Solona barked orders over the din and Eve had a feeling she knew what was coming, "The demon is yours!"

"Of course it is." Trevelyan would have rolled her eyes if they weren't so stubbornly transfixed by the massive stone fiend. She tightened the grip on her greatsword and began to march forward. The sound of boots beside her didn't even demand a question.

"You have a plan?" Cassandra inquired, just as focused on the possessed pile of stone. Glowing stone. Glowing, veiny stone. Eve felt the beginnings of an idea curl the edge of her lips.

"I just might." She nodded, happier than ever that it was the Seeker at her side.

* * *

><p>"Hawke, sweets, remind me: what in Andraste's Shitty Smalls were you thinking when you ran down here by yourself?" Isabela shouted at the Champion as she danced between simultaneous warden attacks. The two rogues scythed through the enemy force, cutting them down in every direction as they desperately fled deeper into the ruined city.<p>

"What do you mean what was I thinking? A pack of murdering rebels had kidnapped my sister!" Hawke shot back, rolling out of the way of a plummeting axe blade. One, two, three quick flicks of her wrist and the axe lay on the ground in a pool of blood.

"And you just had to race off by yourself to play hero again. Idiot! What would you have done if we hadn't come after you?! You and your cousin against this entire lot of bastards – Balls!" The pirate turned her anger into the force of her blades, stabbing clean through the battered armor of her victim and wrenching them free with a squeal of agonized metal.

"Guess it's a good thing you came!" Hawke grinned, a whirl of daggers taking out three nearby warriors. The rogue was in her element. Bethany was safe, the enemy was falling and her best friends were at her side to wreak havoc. This was everything that made sense in the world.

"Do you two ever concentrate?!" Cassandra yelled from nearby, leaping out of the way of Heresy's stone fist as it shattered through a battered wall.

"Let them be, Seeker. This is how they communicate!" Varric called from his position above the battle, raining arrows on the fray.

"Damned, bloody, stubborn, stupid-," Isabela spat insults with every fatal blow as she stalked through the melee, barely acknowledging any attacks, "This is the last time, Hawke! I'm not doing this again. You're so determined to fight every war yourself I'm just going to let you. No more hauling my ass halfway across Thedas to save yours!"

"Duck!" The Seeker barely voiced the warning before Heresy flung a slab of stone towards Hawke and the rebels she was fighting. Fortunately, the rogue's reflexes were better than her enemies' and she dove across the ground, rolling clear as an entire abandoned building collapsed on her foes.

"We have to get him away from the others, Cassandra! Follow me!" Eve shouted the order, laying into the possessed wraith with attacks it couldn't ignore, taunting and driving it away from rest of the combat.

"Are you threatening to leave me again?" The Champion brushed stone dust from her armor and stood up straight, batting sweat-damped hair from her face as she looked through the carnage for her rampaging lover.

"Yes, I bloody well am! For good this time!" Isabela flipped an attacker over her back, one expert twist of her foot snapping the warden's neck.

"Then there's no point in fighting." Hawke sighed and tossed her daggers to the ground. Through the thundering crashes of Heresy attacking the two warriors that flitted around his stone feet; over the screeches of dying darkspawn being laid waste by Solona's warden army; despite the battle cries and challenging shouts of the rebels on all sides – the sound of those two blades dropping to stone echoed across the ruins.

"What? What do you think you're doing?!" Isabela demanded, the battleground suddenly looked much too large; she was too far away from the Champion. The Rivaini didn't hesitate, turning to fight her way back to the other side of the crumbling stone city. Any pursuit of the fleeing rebels was forgotten, wardens seizing their opportunity to escape deeper into the Disciples' refuge.

"Has she lost her mind?!" Trevelyan, still luring Heresy as far from her allies as possible, couldn't ignore what was happening.

"They're both mad, Inquisitor. They'll sort it out." Cassandra refused to be distracted. They'd almost drawn the stone monster clear to the edge of the ruins.

"I can't live without you, Isabela, I thought you knew that. This will just make it quicker." Hawke shrugged, maintaining a resolute stance of absolute surrender. Her unflinching smile didn't quite harmonize with the suicidal fatalism of her words. Isabela doubled her kill speed, slicing ruthlessly through interfering enemies, devouring the distance that separated her from the suddenly defenseless woman.

"You ass-headed lunatic! Pick up your weapon!" The pirate ordered, spotting three rebel wardens racing straight for Hawke.

"Oh, so you don't want me to die? Does that mean you won't leave?" The Champion didn't even look at the swiftly approaching attack. Her eyes didn't move from the decimating progress of the raven haired captain; she was a symphony of expert viciousness, graceful fury married to really dirty fighting tricks.

"Why? Why do I put up with you?" The sailor's frustration was almost breathless as she wrung every second out of the speed of her feet. Her eyes would've been turned heavenward beseeching divine explanation if not for all the bloody weapons still hampering her path. Flesh and blood and abruptly terminated screams lay scattered in her wake.

"Because you love me." Hawke – not the heavens – supplied the answer, smile growing wider.

"Maker's bursting boils! The ego on you! Varric, shoot them!" Isabela flung her dagger, the deadly blade plunging deep into the neck of a warden getting dangerously close to the unarmed Champion.

"I'm good, Rivaini, but I'm not that good!" the dwarf was too far outside weapons range, busy hailing down pain on any enemy targeting the pirate.

"You love me, Isabela. Just admit it!" Hawke still wouldn't acknowledge the death closing in from two sides. Less than fifteen feet and they were moving fast. Faster than Isabela could catch, too fast to hit with a knife. She tried anyway, flinging her entire collection of throwing blades but never piercing anything beyond armor.

"Alright - fine! I do!" The pirate had to choose one of the two rebels to go after, she couldn't get both.

"Do what?" The Champion crossed her arms, refusing to yield. Isabela dove for the closest warden, knocking him to the stone. She sliced his throat and rolled to her feet in one smooth arc of movement. The third warden, the one she couldn't reach, was nearly on Hawke, sword high overhead.

"You stubborn bitch! I love you!" Isabela felt like her throat would bleed on the desperate words as she forced them out, choking on furious panic as the blade swept down. In an instant Hawke dropped to the ground, grabbing her weapons and bringing both back up in simultaneous retaliation. One glint of metal caught the rebel's sword while the other flashed into his torso, the sound of wetness splattering across the floor. The stunned warden was dead before Hawke pulled her dagger from the sucking chest wound.

"That wasn't so hard was it?" The Champion shoved the body backwards to collapse out of her way. With a terribly self-satisfied smile she stepped forward, closing the last distance between herself and a stunned Isabela.

"Are you happy now? I finally said it." The pirate took a deep pull of air into her screaming lungs. The scowl twisting her seductive mouth told of limitless imaginations of pain for her lover.

"Of course. But you've got a lot of catching up to do. I've said it hundreds of times. I said it _first_." Hawke smugly pointed out the exact size and shape of her victory, immune to the black daggers in her lover's glare.

"Sweet Andraste's Ass. I'll get even with you, Hawke. I swear when you draw your last breath I'm going to be there so it's the last thing you hear me say before you die!" Isabela ripped her weapons out of the various scattered corpses with a vehemence that wished to be tearing into Hawke's own flesh. The Champion nodded solemnly at the threat. She was silent, watching the fluid movements of the stunning sailor, lips pursed in careful thought to control her smile. She approached the paused pirate, stepping close enough to brush armor to cloth.

"Isabela, did you just say we'd spend the rest of our lives together?" She could barely disguise the gleeful excitement of her teasing.

"What?! NO!" The pirate spun away, horrified. Was she shocked by the accusation or the realization of her own words?

"Sure sounded like it, Rivaini." Varric chimed in, already realigning his sights for the rest of the battle.

"I said I would be at your deathbed and the way you're going that's going to be a lot sooner than you think!" Isabela crossed her arms, a defense she almost never had to resort to except in the direst of nerve-wracking circumstances.

"Now there's a reason to stay alive," The Champion grinned, wrapping her arms around the angry woman from behind, ignoring the token resistance, "I love you, 'Bela."

"You're an ass, Hawke." Isabela's retort shot back sharp and fast but already warming with surrender to the embrace.

"I am. But I'm your ass," Hawke hid her tender smile in raven hair, dropping to a playful whisper, "Want to go with me to kill a tainted warden leader who's off his rocker?"

"Love to." The pirate finally smiled.

* * *

><p>Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey, sometimes felt she'd spent her whole life fighting darkspawn. That couldn't logically be true, of course, since the first few decades had been passed in the Circle Tower. In that dual bastionprison she'd seldom had to battle anything beyond her instructors over theories of practical combustion or fellow mages for the last sweet bun. Yet those years seemed little more than a clearing throat before the long and piercing scream of chaos that her world became ever after. Wardens, blight, archdemons, emissaries, Disciples and Deep Roads; always the Deep Roads. There was this to be said for a decade (a lifetime) of breathing in tainted air and blood, battling the darkspawn in their every form: She'd gotten very, very good at it.

Thrusting the sharp end of her staff through an oncoming Hurlock she charged forward, pinning him to the next enemy and then another and another. The infuriated monsters howled and struggled, strung like meat on a skewer.

"En Flambe." The Warden's arched eyebrow was the Maker's own pleasure in banishing Old Gods and blasphemy. She only knew a handful of Orlesian words but she loved that phrase every time she saw food or enemies go up in smoke. The darkspawn's howls were short lived as they turned to ash that crumbled off the length of her weapon.

The smell of fire hadn't left her nose before blistering heat bloomed from behind, pummeling her barrier and knocking her across the floor. Omega's loved fire too. Solona jumped back to her feet, irritated that she'd been caught unawares.

The battle with the freed wardens and darkspawn was a cesspool, a blighted whorl of black and crimson that spread in every direction as two forms of taint fought each other. In the midst of it all was the Omega, issuing commands and magic to all his slavering brethren. His healing kept slain darkspawn on their feet, pushing their continued fight long after their broken bodies had surrendered. Wardens fought and swore and fell on all sides, no match for dead but undead enemies that warred on without pain or control.

"It is that monster, we cannot win so long as he lives." Leliana's frustrated voice reached Solona; words that had to have been a shouted over the noise but only graced the Warden's ears as her customary dulcet breath.

The Hero nodded. It felt so familiar, waging war with the redheaded bard at her side. Never mind that she'd become spymaster to the Inquisition or been elected Divine. Regardless of the fact that Solona had been years away in the Deep Roads, learning bizarre secrets and battling inexplicable horrors. Even without Alistair's smartass humor or Morrigan's biting wit, this fight felt as if they'd both stepped into the past and everything was simple again. Kill the darkspawn, save the innocents, complete the mission. This was the feel and rhythm of everything that had always worked for them before.

"Cousin, Lin'len! You both know how to will your magic to another?" Solona flashed through the mob of raging enemies, moving without moving to the point closest to her mage allies. Merrill and Bethany both shouted confirmation, working in perfect tandem to inflict suffering on enemies and protection to their friends.

"Listen to me!" The Warden drove her staff hard into the ground, the focus at its tip beginning to build a painfully bright glow, "Bethany, the force blast I taught you. Merrill, the snare I saw you use earlier. Both to me in three . . .two . . .one!"

Magic erupted from the other two mages, invisible power felt as it arced through the air and fed to the Hero in-between. Solona felt herself torn in separate directions by the opposite forces. Everything in nature had love and hate. Hot despised cold. Water hated oil. Lightning loved iron. Iron that had been struck by lightning could either love or hate other metals. Magic; magic could love and hate as nothing else in the universe outside man.

"Keep the enemies off of her!" Leliana's voice didn't even register as anything beyond a distant buzz, faint and removed like the sound a fly beyond glass. Arrows, blades and spells cut down threats in all directions, a tight circle of protection weaving itself around the focused and vulnerable mage. The Omega began to sense the aberration in the flow of battle and will.

The Warden clenched her teeth hard enough to break half, forcing the hate between the spells to grow ever smaller as she crushed them together with her own will. The vicious resistance fought back at her, rending magical gashes in the world at every side as both spells fought for escape. The massive Hurlock mage was stalking towards her, charging his own spells. _Just a little more._

"Barriers! Now!" The Hero's order cracked with power, bowling over darkspawn and wardens alike as the words rolled into air. Merrill and Bethany immediately complied, throwing up protection not just over themselves but all their allies. The freed wardens dove for cover behind the magical shields, darkspawn falling to scrambling confusion in the sudden retreat. Only the Omega was unfazed.

_Now._ Solona had devoted all her strength to the force of her unifying magic, surrendering control of every muscle in her body in order to gather every last shred of will to complete the spell. Despite all that, there was a satisfied curl at the side of her lips as the two viciously opposed spells surrendered and fused into one.

There was a split second of total silence. Not just the absence of sound but the reverse, the sensation of all noise being pulled inside out. For that moment the entire world was held suspended in paralytic slow motion, every eye turning to the searing brightness that blossomed out of the Hero's hands. All at once time restored itself, rushing over the battlefield to keep up with the merciless shockwave that spread inescapably in all directions. The darkspawn caught in its wake weren't blown back by the force of Bethany's blast, nor were they sucked into the pull of Merrill's snare. They were torn apart by the warring forces. Enemies screamed in an ever widening radius as skin and limbs and organs ripped apart from each other, rent to pieces and exploding in blood.

When Solona rose from her knee – the draining weakness of the magic had driven her from her feet as it spread from her body – she cast her eyes around herself, finding only strewn armor and shredded bodies. The whole of the desert road beyond the nest was bathed in blighted blood and waste.

"I've never seen anything like that," a freed warden staggered from behind protection and pointed ahead, "But it still wasn't enough!"

Following the direction of his finger Amell saw the Omega, swaying but still on his feet. The rest of her allies gathered themselves, armor and weapons rattling for the final push. A gesture of her hand kept them all at bay.

"Leliana?" The Hero invited her love to do what she had always done best. The bard let loose a single arrow, sailing with perfect and deadly precision to land in the empty eye socket of the Omega's helmet. The massive darkspawn adversary broke apart in slow motion, sections of armor coming loose and dropping to the ground. Like the decay of mountains, the crumbling of empires, the terrible enemy fell piece by piece. The clatter of metal raised a cloud of stone dust as the fiend collapsed completely, scattering over the stones in splattered surrender.

"You don't learn that in a circle." Bethany remarked, nudging a dismembered piece of the Omega with her boot.

"No," Her cousin confirmed, "But you do in the Deep Roads."

* * *

><p>The victorious Hero and her company of friends raced into the Disciples' refuge. At first the eerie silence of abandon disoriented them all. In the distance the sound of blasphemy and hatred promised that Hawke and her friends had caught up to the remaining rebels. Far closer, the deafening collapse of stone pulverizing stone pulled them all to a distant remove in the ruins. They found the Inquisitor engaging Heresy's massive rock form into what could only be called a dance. Darting amidst his legs, grabbing and leaping up those sweeping arms, rolling under every crushing blow and clambering up the stony spines of his back; Trevelyan was as relentlessly infuriating as the black flies of summer sweeping in and around a frustrated horse.<p>

Nearby, crouched on the ground in a posture of meditation, sweat broken over her brow and fists trembling with exertion, Seeker Pentaghast concentrated on harnessing her gift for its most important work ever. The warrior was channeling all her power to a single act. Any distraction or disruption now would render it all for naught.

Sizing the situation Solona threw up her arms, dragging herself and all her forces to a halt. Watching the taunting movements of the Inquisitor she recognized the strategy of diversion. Heresy could not be concerned with a praying Seeker when a warrior kept chipping into the rock of his form.

"Commander, what are they -?" a freed warden whispered his question with respectful confusion but the Hero harshly hushed him nonetheless. No noise. No interruptions.

Heresy managed to swat a blow against Trevelyan, tossing her latest attack aside like a soiled rag. The Inquisitor hit a wall with sickening force. Was it merely the coincidence of time or did that brutal injury incite Cassandra to intensify her will? No matter; the Seeker abruptly cast one hand out. In the gloom of the ruins her eyes seemed to light with the Maker's own glory; the contortion of her face a righteous judgment. Heresy lumbered towards her, seemingly unaffected by the will of her powers.

"Cousin . . ." Bethany's feet began to nervously step forward but Leliana and Solona both moved to block her.

Heresy had closed half the distance to Cassandra before he began to slow. Then to pause. The Ancient Rock Wraith stood stock still in confused panic before a roar of pain enveloped the entirety of the ruins. The glowing striations of his rock turned into the brilliant color of flaming lyrium, veins spreading through the whole form with radiant agony. The wraith was paralyzed, the demon unable to will even a single fleck of gravel to move through the devouring pain.

Movement came from the far side instead. Inquisitor Trevelyan had gathered herself from the ground and now ran headlong towards the wraith. With an unstoppable agility that would've brought every rogue to tears, Eve planted her sword into Heresy's leg, flipping head over heels to land directly in the convulsing glow within his mighty stone ribs.

"No!" Cassandra abruptly broke her spell, realizing what the Inquisitor intended. Too late.

Eve brought her massive blade down with both hands, executing the earthshaking strike that could dissolve ground into fire and swallow enemies whole. The shattering force spread through all of Heresy's rock form, disintegrating boulders into gravel. The stone collapsed and fell away from still blazing layers of raw lyrium, allowing the ore to pool and flow into itself. The magical mineral turned to a spiraling web tangled around the radiant center of the wraith, the remaining shreds of the demon, the stunned figure of the Inquisitor trapped in the middle.

The brightness of the burning lyrium grew ever more blinding, bursting into a searing corona that washed out and illuminated every edge of the ruins before abandoning them to black once more. Blinking in the blurry aftermath, Solona and her allies all struggled to find hint of Trevelyan's remains. There was nothing but rubble.

Leliana began to rush forward but Amell caught her arm, holding her back. Terrifying as this prospect was, there was another that deserved to know first. Both watched in biting silence as Cassandra climbed shakily to her feet, spent by the efforts of her power and the impossible worry of the moment.

"Inquisitor?" The Seeker called as she paced forward, erect military posture bracing for pain even as fear sped her step.

The answering groan echoed off all the walls of the ruins, stone itself moaning with pain and loss. Cassandra pushed closer, ignoring the sounds of despondency and mourning that rose from the ranks behind.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?" she demanded once more, the barest thread of panic tangible beneath her words, audible only to those who knew to be listening.

"Flaming Ass." The muttered oath accompanied slabs of rock lifting and falling aside, a worn figure pushing out of the rubble with a further string of curses.

"You are." Cassandra breathed, racing to the rising leader. The Seeker deftly helped her fellow warrior stumble clear of the wreckage, choking on vaporized rock.

"Shit. Cassandra?" Trevelyan managed to stay on her feet only because the other woman had an iron grip around her waist. She flailed at the clouds of dust rising off her armor with every movement, coughing out the powder in her lungs.

"Yes?" The Nevarran's eyes nearly overflowed with gratitude and relief, gloved fingers carving flesh-colored streaks in the Inquisitor's greyed face. Only the brilliance of her eyes was untainted by the dirt and gloom.

"We have got to remember this for next time!" Eve's grin was spread to the point of bursting in triumph.

* * *

><p>Hawke sliced through the last two wardens barring her from the leader. She, Isabela and Varric had chased and ultimately slaughtered their way through the ranks of the rebels as they frantically escaped deeper into the winding bowels of the ruined dwarven city. These fighters were disfigured with the grotesque rash of the taint devouring their very flesh, trading days of their lives for minutes of power. All for nothing as arrows and flashing dagger blades made the world erupt in agony that bled to silence.<p>

The ranks of rebels were annihilated leaving nothing but the wounded leader before Hawke as the rest of the Inquisition company managed to catch up to their allies. The sight that greeted them was the sort depicted on walls of a chantry: justice so vengeful it had become unholy.

"'Suffering, isolation and promise of a painful death.' I should just let the darkspawn have you." Hawke cited the words of fallen warden, dagger pressed against the skin of her enemy's throat.

"I wanted the same thing as every other man that walks Thedas," The warden argued, gasping slightly at the sharpness that dribbled blood down his skin, "I didn't want to die! How is that different from the bloody great Hero? Or your own damned blood? No one wants the Calling!"

"It's different," Hawke snarled the assurance, "Because none of them did this. Only _you._"

The press of her blade would've severed his throat and been a quick end. With his death an entire rebellion would be laid to waste and their murders avenged; promising the restoration of peace to the Grey Wardens and those they protected. Yet the Champion paused, blade poised over that final death strike. Glancing over her shoulder, she showed the first recognition that her allies were present.

"Cousin, sister. He harmed you more than me. He's yours." Without moving her weapon from that inevitably deadly stroke she stepped back, exposing the villain to his victims. Bethany and Solona gazed at the rebel leader, his face distorted with the final stages of taint, eyes mad with desperation.

"He is already near dead. Let the blight have him." Solona shook her head, eye unforgiving as she observed the pain twisting in his face. He'd betrayed his own, killed his brethren, tortured his superiors and intended to use equals as animals for testing. To decay painfully into the ghoulish fate that awaited him in the final stages of tainted disease seemed the only fitting end.

"Put him out of his misery, Marian. Show mercy. He was driven by terror and pain. That doesn't make him wicked, only weak." Bethany's opinion countered her cousin's. Had she known this man at Weisshaupt? He had to have known her to know she was related to the Hero of Ferelden. Was she still answering the brotherly call of all wardens? The need to stand united against all foes because only together could they protect the world? Or was it just the younger Hawke's innate gentle nature that could not abide the thought of torturing her fellow man, no matter his crime?

"Looks like it's up to you, Hawke." Eve quietly observed, respectfully impartial. The Inquisition had been asked to help find the Champion, to save the hostage wardens, to stop the rebels. None of that meant it had to be Trevelyan that decided the fate of the villain at hand. In the sigh beneath her breath she was glad that – this once – the decision fell to someone else.

Hawke turned back to the rebel leader, the hate of her eye flashing a hundred imaginations of death. The tension curling her fists teetered between violence and discipline. Whatever she was about to announce as her verdict was lost to the scrabbling noises that pulled everyone's ears and eyes away from the tableau. Even the deathly ill rebel turned to look in the direction of the sound, watching in shock as darkspawn emerged from the shadows of the ruins.

Eve's hand instinctively went for her sword but The Warden caught her wrist halfway, a subtle shake of her head denying the need. More of the tainted creatures quietly crept out of dark holes and dilapidated stone. They moved forward in slow, quiet caution, eyes glued to the weapons and form of this invading army. The Inquisitor had never imagined seeing darkspawn like this. Their fanged, oversized jaws were closed in solemn grimaces of silence. Eyes that she normally saw either filled with bloodlust or drained of life's flickering light now looked deep and hollow. They didn't rage, they cowered. The enemy that Trevelyan was used to seeing rage forward now crawled towards them; terror and hope warred in gazes that Eve had never dared think of as intelligent.

One of the smaller genlocks eased forward, closer than the rest. He reached for the rebel leader – startling and shrinking back when Hawke's weapon turned on him.

"Don't, cousin," Solona quietly advised, "They don't know who we are but they understand what has happened."

Hawke was clearly less than reassured but she slowly withdrew her blade, keeping the dagger ready in her fist but safe at one side. The bold Disciple resumed his mission, bravely coming near enough to crouch beside the fallen rebel. A blackened hand of talons reached out, finding the warden's own blighted fist and taking hold of the blade still clutched in his numb grasp. With careful, deliberate precision, the genlock guided the sharp edge into the palm of his hand, hissing only slightly as the wound opened and beaded blood. The Disciple examined its cut and seemed pleased, if the tiny nod was any indication. Clenching the injured fist tight the tainted creature held his fist over the dying warden's face, squeezing a few drops of blood to fall into his mouth. A choking swallow announced that tainted but freed blood had passed into the man's body.

"The voices . . ." the rebel leader licked his lips, tongue black and cracked with taint, "I can't . . . they're gone."

The last words were a shocked whisper, a sigh of relief the last breath from the warden's body. Hawke, Trevelyan and the Warden all looked on in silence, trying to comprehend what had just taken place. Even with this ritual complete the Disciples hadn't dispersed. The helpful (murderous?) genlock had retreated to the safety of his kin and they all stood now at a safe distance, watching the visitors. Eve wasn't sure she'd ever endured so intense a silent scrutiny. Those baleful eyes wouldn't move away, wouldn't even blink; only stared with the obstinacy of the Void.

"What do they want?" The Inquisitor finally demanded quietly of her allies, looking automatically to The Hero for some insight. Solona had knelt to close the eyes of the fallen warden. In death, sacrifice. With his final act this crazed rebel has still managed to contribute to a greater cause. The mage rose and swept her eyes over the situation; taking in the fear of the Disciples, the anger of the wardens, the triumph but confusion of all their allies. Finally she settled her gaze on the Inquisitor, the woman the freed darkspawn watched with eager worry.

"They want to serve." Solona replied, simple fact tying knots in reality once more.

* * *

><p><em>Please review. This nughumping chapter gave me fits!<br>_


	21. Aftershocks

_"__They want to serve."_

The words echoed in Trevelyan's mind, chilling as the icy river water she splashed over her skin. She dunked her head under the current, wishing the sting of the cold would slow her feverish thoughts. Their company had returned to Ortan's Thaig, all yielding to the overwhelming exhaustion that had weighted every dragging step. Many of the freed wardens had exulted in finding running water, the opportunity to be clean even more precious than the comfort of sleeping unbound.

Eve had lingered in the camp while the others bathed. She wanted to be sure they had fires, space and food for their suddenly augmented numbers. She needed to check that no enemies had compromised the security of the thaig. Most of all, she had to have time and space to think alone. Hence she was in the water now, long after the others, washing off the blood and dirt on her skin.

_"__Well, unless their Architect is about to pop out I think they're going to have to find their own way." Trevelyan cast her eyes over the silent, wretched creatures. Could they understand her? They held their breath when she spoke, looking like they hung on every word._

_"__Not quite, Inquisitor," Warden Amell softly corrected, "Darkspawn all have a very simple view of hierarchy and these are no different. You killed the demon that protected them, in essence their god. They expect you to fill that role now. Their fate is in your hands."_

Naturally. Because determining the future of mages, templars, wardens, an empire, the Chantry and every living thing on the surface of Thedas wasn't enough. No, she had to decide what to do with the mess underneath as well. Perhaps next she should go back into the Fade and see if she couldn't sort things out for the gods in her spare time?

Eve pulled her head out of the water, lungs aching for breath and her face on fire from the biting cold. It fell to her to make the decision, again. Why call her The Inquisitor when it seemed like she was always the one having to come up with answers? Not that the others didn't have suggestions. Oh, Maker, they definitely had those.

_"__Look at them, Inquisitor, they are no longer driven by the command of the Old Gods but they are still creatures of the Deep Roads. Let them be useful. They could clear darkspawn from the lost thaigs or secure paths for exploration." The Hero of Ferelden must have spent a great deal of time thinking what the Disciples might be able to do. How long had she been studying them; learning all that they were capable of doing or being?_

_"__No." Eve muttered, little more than a whisper lest the watching Disciples take even that simple word as divine order._

_"__They are still tainted," Hawke pointed out, "That means they spread the corruption anywhere they go. You can't let them wander wherever they like, it would put innocents in peril. Send them off to find the Old Gods and kill them. Wasn't that what they were supposed to do?" _

_"__No." Trevelyan felt herself growing louder but still couldn't be heard over the voices of opinion rising on all sides._

_"__That would mean making them wage war against the rest of the darkspawn. We'd be sending them to kill and die; as cruel as the gods they've escaped." Bethany was more outspoken than the Inquisitor had expected. _

_The mage was a voice of innocence and mercy that had been quieted by life's brutal turns but not silenced altogether. Eve was fuzzy on the timing of events but she was certain the younger Hawke would have overlapped with her cousin in the Deep Roads for quite a while. Perhaps long enough for the Hero to have helped shape her thinking? Or was it inevitable that wardens would learn pity for the blighted creatures they spent their lives hearing?_

Trevelyan dunked her head under the cold water again, annoyed that the arguments still rang in her ears after all these hours. It wasn't just because of the decision she made – she had swept aside the fate of nations with ease and never paused to doubt – it was the discomfit of all the parallels. The situation facing the Disciples was one that echoed forward and back in time, a pattern endlessly repeated and history had yet to find the answer that worked best. Who was she to know what was right?

_"__No!" The Inquisitor shouted now, silencing the entire company, "They aren't pawns and we aren't gods."_

No one knew that better than Eve. Over and over, gossip and legends and lies twisted her into a shape people could idolize. No matter how she reasoned or argued or bloody fought, they would insist on making her more than any human could become. Historians were probably already slavering over their inkwells, just waiting for her to die so they could finally canonize her into the immortal they desired. Being a warrior with a strong will and good heart simply wasn't enough.

_"__I will not play the Maker to these creatures," Eve stated, calmer in her steeled determination, "They will find their own calling. Whether it's warring with their brethren, hunting Old Gods or simply plunging even farther into the Deep Roads to vanish; it has to be their choice."_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan had arisen, fought and ultimately triumphed on the battlegrounds of faith. Corypheus' ego and presumption would have destroyed the whole of the world to gain the seat of a god. Those that believed in him were willing to do the same. Wars still raged across Thedas because of men who thought they knew the will of the heavens better than anyone else. How could she even contemplate setting similar events in motion here below with beings that – by chance or design – were now part of the Maker's plan?_

_"__You cannot leave them with nothing, Inquisitor," Leliana's silken voice reached out, marrying reason to compassion, "If you do, they will not leave this place. The rest of the darkspawn will come and wipe them out. To abandon them without any word of guidance is to sentence them to death."_

_"__You're the Most Holy, Leliana. Let the Maker speak to them." Eve shook her head, already turning to depart._

_"__He can speak through anyone." Cassandra's tone wasn't so gentle or imploring as that of the other women but it stopped Trevelyan in her tracks._

_She never knew quite what to say to the Seeker when the subject of belief arose. They had talked often enough about the Chantry and Andraste but only when discussion turned to the Maker did Eve grow uncomfortable; that was when they'd end up arguing. The Inquisitor could admit that in her own unusual way she had faith in the Maker. She invoked His name often enough and even prayed on occasion. Their fight always came from her refusal to admit that He had any hand in the course of events that had changed her life. Time and again they argued because she couldn't allow Cassandra to believe in her as the Maker's Chosen._

_"__Why can't He speak through you?" the Seeker's tapered fingers wrapped around Eve's arm, tenderly pulling her back. _

_The shine in those dark eyes had the power to ignite a thousand rooms of lyrium and right now they were trained only on her. The woman's expression overflowed with unspoken assurances, everyone an unbreakable promise of conviction. Absorbing the strength of that gaze Trevelyan felt understanding slip all the words into place. The Seeker trusted her to do the right thing. Maker or none, chosen or not; she believed in Eve._

_The Inquisitor squeezed the hand on her arm, a subtle gesture of gratitude. Stepping towards the Disciples she cleared her throat and tried to think of anything to say. She couldn't see the future in order to give them guidance. She didn't know their kind well enough to provide any real wisdom. She simply knew they were all mortals and if something went wrong their paths would have to cross again. She didn't want to have to come back here to destroy them._

_ "__Survive without harming others. Protect yourselves when you must. Find something to believe in that doesn't involve killing anyone."_

It had been the best she could do. In all her time with the Inquisition that was all she'd ever been capable of and she had to trust it was enough.

* * *

><p>The thaig was spotted with multiple campfires, the rescued wardens spread out in smaller groups amidst the abandoned city. Bethany strolled past each, overhearing snippets of conversation amongst the crackling noises and laughter. Amazing to think the Deep Roads could feel so safe. It was too ominous here below for actual merriment but an air of contentment permeated throughout, comrades basking in relief and success.<p>

Spying her cousin seated near the largest fire, the youngest Hawke made her way over. Most of the expedition was gathered in this circle. Merril was practicing dice with Varric, Isabela coaching the elf from her cozy position on Hawke's lap. Leliana comfortably leaned against the Hero's shoulder, eyes heavy with weary peace. The only two missing were the warriors.

"May I ask a question, cousin?" Bethany settled into an empty space on the ground near Solona.

"Oh, serious, isn't she?" Leliana observed with appropriate suspense. The Warden smiled but nodded consent. There wasn't much this company didn't already know. There really weren't any secrets left worth keeping.

"Will you be undertaking the final ritual, joining with the Disciple blood?" the question rolled out into space, silencing conversations in every direction. Even Varric stopped mid-throw. Ears and eyes all turned in tense expectation.

"Not without more information." The Warden shook her head, the weight of several vials of Disciple blood resting heavily in a pouch on her belt. She didn't dare let them out of her sight. With the freed darkspawn headed further into the Deep Roads who knew if it would ever be available again? She hadn't even let the rescued wardens know why she lingered behind the rest of the party; confiding only to the closer circle of allies what had to be done.

"Because it may be deadly?" Bethany's pensive eyes reflected the flickering glow of the fire, nearly lost in her own worries.

It had been a subject of debate on the trek back to the thaig: was the third joining safe? The rebel leader had instantly died but was it from the Disciple's blood or his own wounds? So many warden recruits died during the ritual in the first place; the Architect had confessed it was just as hard for darkspawn in the Dark Joining. What if the third cycle was simply too rigorous for anyone to survive? Of course, there was more to Joining than simply getting a taste of the necessary blood. There had to be magic and lyrium and if the blood wasn't right, even more magic. Solona had watched the ritual and dozens of variations thereof, never once was it the same.

"Dying is definitely a concern." The Warden confirmed. Feeling the gentle squeeze of Leliana's fingers on her own she turned enough to plant a soft kiss on red hair, enjoying the bard's tiny sigh of relief. She'd set out to find a cure for the Calling so she could have a future with her love, a life together. Getting killed in the process would pretty much void her efforts. All these years apart couldn't end like that; they couldn't be wasted.

"I could go first, to test it." The younger mage offered abruptly. Such quiet words yet they triggered sound like an explosion.

"Bethany!" Hawke's cry was mostly shock but it was laced with the pain of a sudden wound. Isabela held the Champion firmly in place, refusing to surrender her to the rising tension and panic that coiled her body like Bianca's trigger spring.

"Mages have a better chance of surviving," Bethany quickly explained in defense, "The only warden ever cured was a mage. That might be part of why it worked."

"It might be one of a hundred factors. None of them are worth dying to find out." Hawke's emotions warred for control. She never felt reason fail her so completely as when danger touched her family. She had so little left to protect. Fear fed anger fed fear . . .

"Finding a cure for the Calling is worth any risk!" Bethany cast Isabela an imploring look, begging help from the only person known to tame the Champion's temper. The pirate gave a small nod, using one hand to pull Hawke's attention away from her sister.

"She's not drinking the blood tomorrow, sweet thing," Isabela's soothing voice, lips and fingers played over her lover, dragging her back from the precipice of protective rage, "It'll take us days to get out of here. That's plenty of time to think it over and talk it out."

"Longer than that," Solona added, "There is a lot of research to be done. I don't think we'll be testing a third ritual anytime soon."

"Oh." Both Hawke sisters quieted as they absorbed that fact.

For the elder it was with pure relief, the tension vanishing from her body as she sighed and surrendered to Isabela's painstaking distractions. Bethany, however, felt her shoulders sag under the burden of disappointment. The Hero caught her cousin's sad shift in posture and sound. She could vividly recall their first few conversations together, on nights like this around a fire in the Deep Roads. There had been that same sense of loss in the girl, hopelessness over having been abandoned to the whims of fate.

"But if you really want to help," Solona rested a hand on her relative's shoulder, "I could use assistance with the research. Who could be more perfect than a Grey Warden mage of my family blood?"

"Not a word, sweets." Isabela whispered harshly in Hawke's ear. Fingernails that had been so delicately teasing along the inside of her collar suddenly dug in sharp, holding the Champion and her protests at bay. Hawke wisely complied.

"That would be . . . I'd love that." The young mage's expression turned to a smile like sunlight breaking through clouds. To have a hand in determining her own future; that was a freedom she'd chased for her entire life. Was it so surprising she'd risk death once that prize was in sight?

"So you two will return to Weisshaupt then? Or to Vigil's Keep instead?" Hawke maintained a steadfastly neutral tone. No easy feat considering the war of hope and worry waging across her face; or the attentions of Isabela's mouth near her ear. That she could speak at all was a testament to discipline and years of pirate-oriented experience.

"Not necessarily. I understand there are many excellent resources at the University of Orlais." The Warden's curving smirk belied the innocent observation, glance slipping toward Leliana.

"In Val Royeaux. A convenient coincidence, yes?" The redhead hummed appreciatively, crystalline eyes sparkling with unholy imagination. Rather than reply Solona simply wrapped her arm tighter around the bard, a brushed kiss offering a hundred ideas of her own. The Chantry was never going to be the same.

"See, Hawke? Your sister will be with your cousin, both safe in Val Royeaux and protected by the most dangerous woman in Thedas – or she will be once her divine ass is on the Sunburst Throne. You can finally stop worrying and come back to being my cabin bed warmer." The words twisted like a smirk on Isabela's tongue, twining invitation with command.

"I'm terrible at sea, 'Bela." The Ferelden rogue objected.

"But not at other things." The pirate's sudden smile accompanied a flash of teeth against skin that had the Champion on her feet with a curse. Impressively, she rose without losing hold of the sailor.

"Damn it! If I'm bleeding you're going to be sorry." Hawke warned, a tantalizing danger. The pirate had been deliberately pushing her close to the edge.

"Then stop talking and get even." Isabela whispered the challenge onto her lips; legs and arms wrapped tight around her taunted lover, daring her to resist. She grinned at the Champion's inevitable surrender.

"Hawke's quite strong." Merrill observed as they watched the two rogues disappear into a tent. It was actually Varric's tent but that wasn't really the sort of thing he felt like dying over.

"Someone should warn the Seeker, it's looking like another noisy night." The dwarf sighed.

"Where is Cassandra?" Leliana realized they hadn't seen the warrior for some time. Either warrior, in fact.

* * *

><p>Seeker Pentaghast paced the edge of the river. She'd bathed as quickly as possible before heading upstream, finding the familiar spot. It was quiet and secluded, that was why she came here to think. Not because it was the same place where the Inquisitor had turned her world upside down with a few words and then sent it spinning with a kiss. Not at all.<p>

She slammed a gloved fist into fragile stone, watching it disintegrate around her hand. Anger had always been so familiar, almost comfortable for her, like the well-worn handle of a favorite weapon. Right now she felt like she could only catch the blade. The bubbling frustration that twisted inside her blood wasn't anything she could turn to use; she couldn't wield it against any enemy or force it to become strength. She was angry at herself.

Afraid. She'd been afraid. On the battlefield! That hadn't happened in years, possibly even decades. No matter if it was for hours or only the space of a heartbeat, fear made her weak. She'd actually felt herself shaking – and not from exertion – when she called to the Inquisitor, approaching what looked to have become her grave.

Seekers train for decades to have perfect discipline. Even if she hadn't been honed with such experience Cassandra prided herself on the tightness of her control, an iron will that subjugated all desire in favor of duty. She couldn't find that restraint now. Over and over she repeated the reasoning, the scolding logic, the cursing reproof that should have banished the sick hollow in her stomach, the dread gnawing behind her eyes. Trevelyan was fine. She survived. She was healthy and unharmed and, quite frankly, smug over the daring triumph. It didn't seem to matter. Cassandra's breath still stuttered in her lungs when the unbidden image of Heresy's deadly collapse assaulted her mind.

The relief when that damned impulsive woman had staggered out of the rubble! She all but fell into the Seeker's arms; worn but giddy with victory, flashing that cocky grin and gloating eyes. It was comforting, infuriating, ridiculous, inevitable . . . familiar? Cassandra paused as the strange thought passed quietly through her mind. She waited, holding still until the faint outline of the idea returned once more. The drama she'd witnessed today wasn't new. Not even the panic that had gripped her reflexes. Stronger, perhaps, but she could gradually recognize the flavor of emotions that had coursed through her blood before.

A similar feeling had swelled to nearly choke the Seeker a handful of other times. Each was an occasion when the Herald, the Inquisitor, the woman who'd become her friend, nearly died. After closing the rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, thinking her lost in the avalanche of Haven, in the aftermath of the final battle with Corypheus; at every one of those times she'd felt as if she wouldn't breathe again until Eve was found. It had driven her forward, forced her to call out, dragged her to race ahead of the others. Cassandra was always the first to reach her. Surely that wasn't coincidence.

She'd never noticed the pattern before, not until she had a name to put on the emotion. She'd justified the overwhelming concern as her duty, a demand of the Inquisition, a necessity for the preservation of all Thedas; she'd never allowed herself to consider that it might have become far more personal. Cassandra had spent her lifetime in the service of protection: defending truth, saving innocents, guarding the Chantry and its ideals. She'd never been driven to keep someone safe simply because she couldn't imagine living without them.

She knew the name for that.

The Seeker sat down on the steps that led from the river bank to the thaig. The uncoiling facts began to move faster in dizzying circles. Each time they passed she saw more clearly, understood the truth that had been poised just beneath the surface of her thoughts. As the revelation spread out in her mind it filled gaps and swallowed shadows, luring a smile to grow across her lips. Perhaps the best thing to do when the world has been sent spinning is to simply sit back and enjoy the ride?

* * *

><p>Inquisitor Trevelyan had finally climbed out of the freezing water and squelched in her wet tunic and leggings back toward her friends in the camp. <em>Friends. Two of the most formidable women since Andraste and I already think of them as friends.<em> The Ostwick noble couldn't help but chide herself. Never mind that she'd done her own share of world-saving; for a decade she'd heard the legend of the Warden-Commander and read Varric's Champion of Kirkwall repeatedly. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that adventuring with them both was surreal.

She was still a distance from the fire when one of those surreal women arrived in her path. Warden Amell and Leliana were strolling towards her, more involved in their private conversation than their surroundings. Their expressions were warm and easy. Eve had never seen her spymaster so relaxed. She was a strikingly beautiful woman; Trevelyan had noticed that even beneath the shadows of her cowl in that dark prison cell. In the presence of her Hero she grew radiant, happiness enhancing her every feature to exquisite. _But still not Cassandra._ The thought of the Seeker unconsciously turned her lips to a smile.

"You are thinking of her already, yes?" Leliana's Orlesian accent allowed her to couch facts in questions, playfully edging around truths. The bard and Warden had spotted Trevelyan and drew to meet her.

"It must be half past the hour." Eve couldn't even pretend to be embarrassed. She was freezing cold and dripping and – apparently – smiling like a child handed a bag of sweets.

"Only every thirty minutes? What sort of romantic thinks of her love just twice an hour?" The redhead scolded with a laugh, full of her own notions and experience for what constituted real passion.

"That's only when I think of her as a whole. The first five minutes is her eyes and then the next five is the sound of her voice," The Inquisitor airily outlined the breakdown of her hours as they wrapped around the Nevarran beauty, "The ten after that is the way she fights but that's because it involves everything from head to toe. The last ten is her lips and they deserve every blessed second. Then it's all of her and my mind staggers to a halt and has to start over."

"Very smooth, no?" Leliana's glance slid to Solona, clearly approving the spontaneous display of poetic affection.

"Just like you said," The Warden nodded, duly impressed, "But perhaps it's wasted on us? I'm sure your time would be better spent finding the Seeker."

"I thought she'd be at the fire." Eve's smile faded. She hadn't heard so much as a squeak from Isabela so Cassandra couldn't be fleeing blasphemy. Why leave the company of allies and friends? Had Varric been goading her about details for his supposed romance serial?

"You know our Seeker, she prefers privacy for her meditation." Leliana shrugged. They'd all grown familiar with the Nevarran's occasional absences, times when the rhythmic violence of her training practice suddenly stilled. Despite no longer being a member of the Order she maintained her habits, all of them; including the deep silences of isolated reflection that granted each Seeker their rare gifts.

"I didn't realize how much of her power she used on Heresy." The Inquisitor's confusion gave way to guilt. She had been so excited after that victory that she hadn't been able to notice much of anything other than the thrill of success and the pleasure of Cassandra's familiar strength holding her close.

"She was quite pale." The Warden pursed her lips as she recalled the shaken Seeker, exchanging a small glance of concern with Leliana. The redhead gave a subtle nod, confirming that she too had been worried about the warrior.

"I'd better check she's alright." Eve cast her eyes up the various paths of the thaig.

"If you find her in such damp attire she's likely to attempt setting _you _on fire the same as the demon." Leliana caught the Inquisitor as she'd already begun to move. Trevelyan looked at her dripping clothes, aware of the wetness but too numb to feel the icy water trickling along her skin.

"Here, allow me." Solona rubbed her hands briskly together as though to warm herself. Blowing into the charge of her fingers a hot breeze swept out and fluttered Eve's clothing, drying in an instant. The Inquisitor patted the warm fabric, finding not even an inch of damp.

"Go on, now you won't freeze to death before you find her." Leliana cut off Eve's attempt at impressed thanks, nodding her on her way. With a swift smile of gratitude she headed across the thaig, the unspoken blessings of both women following behind.

* * *

><p>Cutting through the center of the camp the Inquisitor nodded to each of her allies. She would've continued without pause save for the curious sound of a subdued conversation that suddenly caught her ear. She tracked it to a nearby occupied tent and had no trouble identifying the voices within. Giving into the lure of intrigue, Trevelyan stopped long enough to listen.<p>

_"__Say it."_ _Hawke's laugh laced the command._

_"__Blasted buggeration! If you don't stop teasing I swear on Andraste's Flaming Knickers I'll throw you out of this tent and finish myself!" Isabela's voice was nearly as harsh and raw as the earlier argument in battle._

_"__Say it again, 'Bela." There was less demand this time, an unspoken 'please' breathing beneath the words. Whatever biting response the pirate had prepared was cut short by a sharp gasp that faded to sigh._

_"__I love you, Hawke. Maker damn me, I really do." The soft surrender was repeated, never louder than the confession of sinners, a whispered prayer of grace._

No wonder they'd been so quiet. The Inquisitor walked away, shaking her head.

* * *

><p>There were literally hundreds of places Cassandra could go to be alone in the thaig. Eve's feet instinctively pulled her to check one specific location first, silently rejoicing when she saw the familiar braid-crowned black hair. The Inquisitor quietly walked down the stairs the Seeker currently rested on. She glanced over the secluded river bank, eyes easily finding the exact place of crumbling stone wall where she'd been pinned - her sweetest defeat. <em>Maker's Bones. Am I going to have to arrange expeditions to the Deep Roads every year just so we can return to our 'special place' on anniversaries?<em> Her heart gave a sharp twist of rebuke at the thought. _You're getting presumptuous again, Trevelyan._

The Seeker's head tilted at the sound of feet on the steps, easily moving to one side to make room for her company. Trevelyan dropped to the stone, noting with elation the small shift of Cassandra's posture that brought them closer.

"Everything alright?" Eve lifted the warrior's hand, threading the graceful fingers with her own. A mere day ago she wouldn't have dared such an intimate touch, not without cause. Yet now it seemed the most natural impulse in the world, as though they'd shared such a gesture together for years.

"With the Inquisitor present what could go wrong?" The warrior voiced the unofficial conviction of all Thedas but with a wry smile of sarcasm.

"Let's see," Trevelyan looked around the area, "For a start that river could suddenly flood. A swarm of darkspawn riding corrupted spiders could come charging up the road. Maybe an Old God could suddenly awake right beneath our asses and swallow this whole thaig in an earthquake?"

"As optimistic as ever, I see." Cassandra chuckled, eyes bright with the sparkle Eve found so captivating.

"Absolutely. You see, optimism is knowing all those things could happen and it would still be fine because I'm with you." She knew the playful words were skirting dangerously close to a deeper truth. _Not until we're back at Skyhold._ Eve reminded herself of their morning conversation. Confessions had to wait, no matter how eagerly they danced on her tongue.

"That isn't optimism, Inquisitor." Cassandra's brow tilted up, a challenge on the edge of her correction. The shade of her eyes grew dark, drawing Eve deeper in.

"Damn my vocabulary. I'm sorry, Seeker. I'm sure Varric could tell me what it is." Trevelyan leaned a degree closer, watching the twitch of her lips, a curl of anticipation that fluttered at the edge of her mouth.

"Perhaps he isn't the only one." The Nevarran's accent dragged the words out slow, each a breath Eve could feel against her skin. The enticing whisper was nearly close enough to taste.

_"__Andraste's juices! Fuck!"_

Eve groaned, dropping her head to Cassandra's shoulder as the screaming obscenity tore through the romantic atmosphere. _Clearly, they've moved on from 'I love you.' _If ever there was a reason to forbid tents at camp it started with 'Is' and ended with blasphemy. The Inquisitor would've given voice to her annoyance if she hadn't realized the shoulder her forehead rested on was shaking slightly.

"You're laughing?" Eve demanded in surprise. Since when did the Seeker find anything about Isabela amusing, let alone her lewd expressions?

"I was just thinking that nothing will change either of them." Cassandra shook her head, marveling that two people could be so constant. Constantly terrible, to be sure, but that was still impressive.

"Probably not." Trevelyan agreed.

"It's actually a good thing. If Isabela were not so," The Seeker couldn't let a string of slurs distract her thought, "So herself, I likely would never have found that I can be jealous."

"You can?" Eve faked surprise as best she could. Not well, as it turns out. Cassandra's elbow in her ribs erased the ridiculous expression.

"You laugh. I thought I was above such things. It never worried me that Galyan might end up with someone else. At the time I genuinely imagined it was because I understood trust and loyalty," The Seeker scoffed at her own naiveté, "It was simply that I didn't care. He was adventurous and charming and we enjoyed each other's company but we fell into it as easily as we walked away."

"Glad to hear it. Because I happen to _know_ I get jealous." Trevelyan confided, trailing her hand along the Seeker's neck to tease the fringe of her hair.

"These past few days have been . . . enlightening," Cassandra had to swallow, biting back a shiver at the ghost of touch along her skin, "So many emotions; jealousy, desire, fear. All beyond my control because I've never before felt them as sharply as with you. You said I make you weak? I think you are driving me mad."

"Both sound good." Eve stole a quick kiss between the words, a tiny relief from the building pressure as thoughts and feelings coalesced in the air around them. One kiss stolen, returned, shared, extended . . .

"How did this happen?" Cassandra pulled back, frustrated by her own lack of discipline, "I have never let anyone slip so completely past my reason! I was terrified today – a Seeker of Truth frightened!"

"About me?" The Inquisitor blinked, shocked by the revelation. She could imagine Iron Bull (who got a hard-on fighting dragons) running away with urine squelching in his pants before she could picture Seeker Pentaghast even flinching.

"No, about Varric," Cassandra blended sarcasm, anger and tenderness into a single arch look, "Yes, you! You vanished. Again. You've returned from the grave so many times but today it was different. I felt that if you didn't come back safe once more I might die. I've never had so much to lose."

"I've never had more reason to survive." Eve gently promised, brushing a thumb over the hint of flush on her Seeker's cheek. If she had to claw her way back from the edge of the Fade and dig out of her own grave with a soup spoon she would, if only for an extra blessed moment together. _And a kiss, of course. _The Inquisitor was, after all, only human. She did her best to conceal a wicked flash of smile by trailing her lips in line of delicate brushes up Cassandra's jaw.

"Good. Because losing you now isn't an option," the simple fact was stated with a chuckle, the Nevarran's own mouth turning into a matching smirk, "Not after we've been through so much. Certainly not before –,"

Eve stilled her attentions, waiting for the hanging thought to finish. She had felt Cassandra catch the words, swallowing whatever confession had nearly spilled out. Leaning back Trevelyan searched for a clue in the woman's closed mouth, the evasive slide of her eyes. The Seeker's free hand played at the edge of the Inquisitor's sleeve while the fingers clutched in her own fluttered like her heartbeat.

"Before?" Eve prompted but the other warrior obstinately refused to yield. Cassandra had grown solemn in her own thoughts. _That won't do. _The Inquisitor knew how to draw her out once more:

"Before I get to see you naked?" She tried again, smiling as she saw the Seeker's flush darken, "Because that's actually a deal breaker between me and the Maker. He's not taking me to his bosom until I've at least seen yo-,"

A hand immediately silenced the Inquisitor's mouth but couldn't wipe away her grin. She exulted in the sight of annoyance, scandal and desire all warring for dominance in the line of Cassandra's lips. She had learned that when the Nevarran couldn't be chased, she could be lured.

"Romantic as I'm sure that sentiment was," The Seeker sighed in irritation but couldn't fight the tiniest hint of amusement from bleeding through, "I meant before I tell you I love you."

"Cassandra," Trevelyan wanted nothing more than to ask her to repeat herself, over and over until her throat was raw but she couldn't be selfish, "You don't have to say that. I'm not going anywhere and certainly not dying. I know there are a lot of questions but we don't have to rush for answers."

"I'm not. I've only stopped hesitating," The Seeker's fingers brushed away Eve's unconscious frown of worry, "This affection, the yearning to be close to you, it is all at once so new to explore but feels like it's been wound into my bones for Maker-knows how long. The noon daylight of Skyhold isn't going to reveal anything I don't know here in the dark. I am in love with you. What other answer do I need?"

"I- Maker! I thought," Eve fought for control of her mouth and wits, stunned speechless by the sublime declaration, "You said you could never find the proper words."

Casandra smiled, pleased to have the upper hand. Elegant fingers reached up and caressed the Inquisitor's face, threading into her hair and drawing her close.

"You inspire me." She murmured in reply and sealed the confession with her lips.

* * *

><p><em>Obviously winding down now. Thanks to everyone who's followed and reviewed! Not much further to the end but please keep up the feedback!<em>


	22. Dawn of the Seeker

_Warning: This is the most selfish chapter of the whole story. It is the longest and undoubtedly fluffiest._

* * *

><p>How long had it been? Cassandra drifted lazily out of her dreams. How long had it been since she woke to the warmth of a body beside her? She'd stopped counting after a decade. Truth be told, it had been so long that she was nervous the first time the sleepy Inquisitor drew her close. It was difficult to predict what her reflexes might do when she awoke. Generally if someone was in her personal space it meant an attack and Cassandra half expected to injure her companion before she was fully conscious. Waking alone that first morning had probably saved them both a fair number of bruises and apologies.<p>

This time, however, as the Seeker's mind gradually drew back the cobwebs of slumber she felt only comfort in the heat of the woman cradling her so close. Breath tickled her neck in a gentle, soothing rhythm that promised Cassandra was the first to wake today. She didn't open her eyes, preferring to examine each individual sensation that wrapped her in contentment. The soft press of curves against her back was a contrast to the arm draped over her waist, gripping like iron even in her sleep. The few layers of fabric separating their skin weren't enough to mask the faint vibration of a heartbeat.

She'd felt that pulse for the first time only last night, the first time the Inquisitor pulled her close without armor between them. The Seeker smiled, warmth threading her length with the recollection.

_"__I can't remember," Eve managed to speak, voice as raw as Cassandra's lips felt, "Did I tell you –Maker," the Seeker was enjoying learning each place along the woman's skin that made her lose her thoughts. The spot where her jaw met her ear was quickly becoming a favorite, "Did I remember to say I love you?"_

_"__Mmm. Once or twice." Cassandra smiled, exploring the Inquisitor's parted lips before drawing back to gaze down at the flush of her attentions._

_"__Are you sure?" Trevelyan's eyes focused, warring back the swell of desire to clearly see the Seeker leaning above her._

_"__I think once was just before this," The Nevarran warrior smirked as she trailed a finger over the sensitive mark on Eve's neck, eliciting a stifled sigh, "Then again right after we acquired the matching bruises."_

_"__Sorry about that." The Inquisitor chuckled ruefully. Both warriors were so used to wearing armor they'd forgotten how fragile a body could be without it. Rolling across stone stairs was a good way to be reminded._

_"__I doubt it will be the last time we have to deal with injuries in the morning." Cassandra hadn't meant to answer so suggestively; her voice was heavy in her throat and slid like molten silk around the words, twisting them into their own enchantment. She felt Eve tense beneath her, body pulling upright and dragging the Seeker along, bringing them both to their feet._

_"__If we stay here much longer I'm going to do something stupid." The Inquisitor apologized, catching the other woman's wrist to lead her back to camp._

_"__Something better avoided by going to your tent?" Cassandra objected skeptically. She was perfectly capable of walking to camp herself and finding her way to her own bedroll. Trevelyan's grip on her arm guaranteed that wasn't what she intended to happen. The Seeker, however, wasn't entirely certain that anything else was wise. _

_"__It's late and I'm exhausted. I sleep better with you beside me." Eve explained with a shrug but then paused, realizing more was necessary, "I'm still trying to believe this isn't a dream, Cassandra. Please, don't make me wake up without you."_

_The Seeker was silent, mulling over the vulnerable expression that accompanied so sincere an admission. Without a word she pulled free from the hand clutching her arm. The flash of disappointed confusion on the Inquisitor's face was rapidly washed away when Cassandra stepped closer, wrapping her arm around the woman's waist. _

_"__There'll be gossip enough. No one needs to see you dragging me into your tent like a barbarian." The Nevarran scolded with a smirk. She easily accepted Eve's arm around her shoulders, hugging her close as they resumed walking side by side._

_"__Maker, I love you." The affectionate chuckle accompanied a press of lips to her cheek. _

Cassandra imagined she still felt the shadow of that kiss and the several that followed before they fell asleep. Her eyes opened in surprise, realizing it wasn't her imagination. A third and fourth plush caress against the curve of her neck left no room for doubt.

"Eve?" The Seeker's question fell into a sigh as the Inquisitor reached the tender spot below her ear. The soft, grazing warmth sent a rush of pleasant needles down her spine.

"Csnd . . ." the sleepy murmur of her name was muffled against skin, confirming the leader was still lost to her dreams. Dreams that threatened to trespass reality.

Cassandra felt the other woman press closer, shaping their bodies nearly to one. Hot breath near her ear grew louder and faster, mirroring the Seeker's quickened pulse. _She wouldn't? _Eve's hand dragged over thin Orlesian cotton, clenching the material briefly when Cassandra's abdomen shuddered beneath the contact. The Seeker could feel each individual fingertip as her touch slid down, teasing from the barest stroke of nails to a possessive grasp, exploring the lithe muscles beneath her grip. The same agonized war of tenderness and greed wandered her neck and shoulder, ravishing kisses suddenly punctuated with the scrape of teeth. _She would._ Cassandra bit back a groan.

The Nevarran warrior couldn't move. Heat spiraled out from Eve's hand, goose bumps following the trail of her lips. Each wave of tension that flooded through Cassandra grew stronger; before long there wouldn't be any relief, just the ache that threatened to break her completely. She needed to think, to speak, to surrender – _anything_ to end the torture.

When the Inquisitor's hand finally slid to rest between her legs there was nothing the Seeker could do but melt. _Maker! No wonder Isabela blasphemes. _Eve's confident touch threatened to burn straight through fabric and Cassandra opened her mouth for the moan that had been begging for release.

The Inquisitor startled at the sound, jerking away from all contact with a gasp that segued into a curse. Cassandra rolled to her back, finding Eve raised up on her arms and panting for breath as her eyes scoured the tent for familiarity. After a few deep breaths and a lot of blinking to clear away dreams Trevelyan looked down, finding the flushed but patient Seeker watching her.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Cassandra. I had no idea . . ." she groaned an apology, guilty eyes avoiding the other woman's face.

"If I really objected I would have stopped you." The Seeker sat up, reaching out to tilt Eve's chin up to meet her gaze. The admission brought an extra rush of blood to her cheeks, fortunately invisible beneath the lingering bloom of excitement left by the Inquisitor's attentions.

"It was," Trevelyan moistened her lips, "It was a really good dream."

"It felt like it." Cassandra smirked, enjoying the way a wave of redness swept over the other warrior's skin. She'd never seen the leader blush so thoroughly. It reached clear to her open collar. _Does it go further?_ The Seeker shook her head, scolding herself for the inappropriate thought. Not exactly inappropriate, actually, given the circumstances. Merely . . . ill-timed.

"It's a good thing we'll be breaking camp and just doing bedrolls back to Skyhold." Eve sighed, dropping back to lay flat on the scant bedding.

"Oh? You don't enjoy us having our privacy?" The Seeker lay down on her side, propping her head in one hand to regard the chagrinned woman.

"Obviously I do. A little too much. I can't even trust myself around you in my sleep!" The Inquisitor's laugh was short and bitter, clearly displeased by the revelation. Cassandra recognized the sound: the biting frustration of failure. How long had the other warrior been warring with herself for control? If the woman's desires were so strong that they bled out of her dreams to possess her body like a demon, perhaps they were better not denied.

"I trust you. Isn't that enough?" The Seeker rested her hand carefully on Eve's chest, finding the spot where - if she held still - she could feel the beat of her heart. The Inquisitor automatically covered the fingers with her own.

"Afraid not." She declared, returning to her more characteristic and cocky self as though all the dreams and desires had been neatly tucked away.

"You obstinate thing." Cassandra rolled her eyes, starting to pull her hand back but it was caught fast in the Inquisitor's grip. Trevelyan's eyes had turned dark, revealing bottomless depths of hunger.

"I am, thank the Maker. I'm stubborn enough to chase what I want clear to the Black City and back again. What I want _is_ you," Eve's sharp pull tugged Cassandra down and then easily rolled her over, pinning the Seeker to the ground, "But not here. Not like this. I want to take my time undressing you like those works of art they reveal in Val Royeaux, discovering every inch of you first by look, then touch and finally taste," one thumb barely traced the edge of the Seeker's lips, "I'll learn your every sigh and shudder until I can hear you with the tips of my fingers. I don't want to steal hurried indulgences on thin bedding with rocks bruising my knees. I want to make love to you," Eve smiled at the Seeker's sharp inhalation, "Slow and gentle, fast and loud, messy and laughing – there are a hundred ways I want to have you. Understand now why I'm not about to start giving into those desires down here?"

"Keep talking like that," Cassandra swallowed, clearing the shiver of need from her voice, "And I may not give you the option."

"Obstinate. Remember, Seeker?" Trevelyan leaned close enough to almost touch her lips to the Seeker's waiting mouth, staying a breath beyond reach.

"Trust me, I won't be forgetting this," the Nevarran confirmed, malice purring in her smile, "Any of it."

The threat made Eve go still long enough for Cassandra to catch her lips, conveying a hundred promises of revenge for this sweet torture.

* * *

><p>The cave-ins and collapses throughout the Deep Roads had obliterated entire paths. The trade-off was that new ones were opened, tunnels and gorges connecting roads that never would have touched. A cartographer would lose their mind trying to map every possible route in the limitless, ever-changing maze. But map makers don't have the motivation of a warden trying to survive alone in corruption infested ruins. Warden Amell was tremendously motivated and had ample time, two key factors to successfully memorizing every escape she might ever need. She led them by memory along a route that promised to get them to Orzammar without more than one stop for rest.<p>

The shortcut was a relief. None of the Inquisition party relished the idea of slogging back the way they came, particularly not now that they had a company of wardens weighing their numbers. Cassandra had counted at least 14 of the released captives limping or otherwise injured. Solona and Bethany worked together to heal all they could but many would need more extensive treatment when they emerged. The Seeker added medical attention to the list of tasks awaiting them on the surface. The mental exercise kept her distracted from thoughts of her morning wake-up and the frustrations attendant.

At Orzammar they would need to make arrangements for the wardens to return to Weisshaupt, hopefully the dwarves would be cooperative. The Shaperate would want to know what their expedition found; the politicians more attentive to detail might wonder why a party of 6 were returning as more than 30. There would be questions. Where was Josephine when they really needed her?

Past Orzammar there were further questions. They would need to send word to Weisshaupt to check on the status of the other half of their company. Would they have finished at the stronghold yet and already be returning to Skyhold? Whatever report they brought back on the damage from the rebellion would require analysis and a strategy for offering further support. That meant the council would be locked away for hours. That was only one of a dozen issues they'd have to deal with. _The Inquisitor will probably be stuck in conference with them for days. _

Cassandra frowned. The last few days had been indulgent, adventuring together with the company as they had before, rather than separated by the demands of politics and duties for Thedas. Returning to Skyhold meant returning to those obligations. The Inquisition and the Seekers overlapped and though their efforts ran parallel, they never seemed near each other. Cassandra frowned, dragging her imagination to cast ahead for the future:

_The Seeker slammed the edge of her blade into the training dummy, soreness and sweat covering every inch of her body but still too angry to rest. It had been almost ten days. A mission to the Storm Coast shouldn't take that long, not even if Sera got snatched by a dragon and flown to that damned lizard island. Cassandra's sword chipped wood, sending up a hail of splinters as she lunged and pummeled the helpless foe. She'd had to stay behind, inundated with Inquisition warriors all aspiring to become part of the new Seekers of Truth. It was the fourth expedition in six months that had dragged Trevelyan away from Skyhold without Cassandra, both of them protesting but neither able to change the demand._

_She knew this would happen. The Inquisition's fame and influence required their leader to represent them in a broad spectrum of arenas, her time sliced up and given away like prizes to the most powerful bidder. Every day brought fresh political machinations and emergencies and every one of them meant more time apart. Cassandra cursed, swinging back for a vicious strike. _Maker Take It! I hate missing you!_ The razor edge of her blade sliced clean through the head of the training dummy, sending it flying. _

_"__That happy to see me?" a familiar voice teased, her approach visible past the dismembered manikin. Cassandra straightened, using the back of her glove to wipe sweat from her eyes to see clearly. Inquisitor Trevelyan picked up the decapitated head, bringing it back to the training area. The Seeker smiled, sliding her sword back into its sheath as tension melted out of her muscles._

_"__The sight of you warms the heart." She admitted, stepping towards the returned warrior but pausing at a distance. They always stood a few feet apart, careful not to give reason for gossip. There was more than enough already._

_"__I was hoping," Eve cleared her throat, placing the dummy head back on its neck, carefully adjusting the balance, "That you and I might spend some time together."_

_Cassandra's heart skipped at the suggestion couched in such casual innocence. She considered teasing back in kind, playfully asking just what they could possibly do to pass such time. The relief of seeing her lover in the flesh, however, made her surrender to honesty._

_"__As was I." she confessed, grateful to see a flash of longing in the Inquisitor's eyes echoing her own. By silent accord they headed for the nearby barracks. Mostly empty during the day the quarters promised privacy. Even if it was only a few minutes, it was enough._

"It is quite sweet, isn't it?" The breathy inflections of Leliana's accent pulled Cassandra back to reality.

"What is that?" The Seeker hedged, searching her mind for any hint of conversation she missed. It wasn't like her to allow her mind to drift.

"Those two. They are talking about us." The redhead nodded ahead to Trevelyan and Amell walking side by side. Cassandra had been deliberately not paying attention to the Inquisitor, finding it made her even more distracted. But apparently now she was capable of distracting herself.

"How do you know?" The Nevarran evaluated the two women as they walked, finding nothing particularly telling in their postures.

"They haven't looked back at all. They are too nervous we'll see secrets in their eyes." Leliana smiled, amused by their failed attempt at subterfuge. The spymaster could always spot secrets, no matter how desperately hidden. Cassandra tilted her head to one side, pondering just why the Inquisitor and Hero would be discussing herself and Leliana. A bard and a warrior, Divine and Seeker, Orlesian and Nevarran; there was nothing they had in common to compare beyond the Inquisition itself. _That and being personally involved with heroes_. The Seeker's shoulders straightened as she realized the connection.

"You've been with the Hero for ten years, Leliana. You served the Divine while she commanded the wardens of Ferelden," Cassandra thought of her imagined future frustrations, "How are you not torn apart by duty?"

"Because my duty serves my love, and hers does the same," the bard's easy answer accompanied tenderness in her eyes, fixed firmly on the woman ahead, "Doing what is best for others is what brought us together in the beginning. If that same cause has to separate us for a time, I still know we're united."

"Most noble," The Seeker nodded, then cast the redhead a sidelong glance, "But you will be much happier when you can both accomplish your purpose from the same physical locale?"

"Without question," Leliana agreed wholeheartedly, "Though we will have to be discreet for a while. Changing a thousand years of Chantry doctrine and rules will take some time. In that you are more fortunate."

"Am I?" Cassandra frowned, wondering where the Chantry rules intended to impose on her life or future that they hadn't already.

"You both are. Your positions and responsibilities make it much easier to stay closely aligned. Even the gossip will be slower to catch on. Who would think it odd for the Inquisitor and Lady Seeker to be together at, say, the Thibault's Masque?" the rogue pointed out their advantage.

She also accidentally (or perhaps deliberately, it could be hard to tell with Leliana) reminded Cassandra of the nearly forgotten argument from days before. It seemed a separate life when they had been gathered around the war table, deciding who would have to attend the masque and why. The Seeker cringed, praying they had been gone long enough to miss the event. Even if there were none of the intrigues and danger of the Winter Palace costume party, it would be nothing but a pageant of indulgence and narcissism. Not to mention it was merely an elaborate marital auction. No. The Inquisitor would _not_ be participating in such a tasteless game. Or, if she had to, she would most certainly not be alone.

_"__She is staring at you again." Cassandra frowned, spotting the juvenile Thibault heir on the periphery of the dancefloor._

_"__I'm the Inquisitor, Cassandra. Half the ballroom is staring at me." Trevelyan laughed, easily spinning the Seeker through the steps of an elaborate Orlesian waltz. There were some advantages to having been raised a Nevarran noble: the dance lessons were positively engrained. _

_"__Only half?" Cassandra was surprised by the rare display of humility. _

_"__The other half is looking at you. I promise." Eve confided close to her ear, tickling it with a soft laugh. _

_Cassandra had felt eyes on her from the moment they arrived at the masque, most gazes full of admiration, respect and a hint of fear. A few, however, saw the Inquisitor's hand on her arm and regarded her with the animosity of threat. The Seeker hadn't wandered more than three steps from her companion's side all evening. That alone drew resentful glares from dozens of hopeful young nobles (of both genders). Cassandra would have been self-conscious but for three facts: she was wearing her dress armor and well protected, her armor included a sword and that meant she was also dangerous and finally, the Inquisitor hadn't been able to keep her eyes or hands off the Seeker at her side. _

_"__You're leading again, Cassandra." Eve teased, forcing her partner to slip back into the role of being guided._

_"__You've been leading all night." The Nevarran objected. The Inquisitor had spun her lover onto the dancefloor and refused to relinquish her to any other. Only in the middle of the twirling crowd could they find any privacy for themselves._

_"__I'm wearing pants." Trevelyan reasoned._

_"__We both are." Cassandra countered. _

_"__Leggings don't count." Eve shook her head but deliberately looked down to evaluate the mentioned garment and the graceful, toned limbs they encased. How many people just saw that? Cassandra jerked the Inquisitor's hand, forcing her to pay attention._

_"__If I can kill a man while wearing them, they do." The Seeker had done grievous bodily harm to any number of suitors while wearing a skirt but she'd never actually inflicted death. No matter how much she might have wanted to. _

_"__Fine. Next time we'll spar before coming to a ball and whoever wins gets to lead." Trevelyan suggested a compromise that would allow them to resume concentrating on the dance. It was the only way she could keep her hands on the Seeker in this room full of people and she was loathe to lose it in an argument. Being at the fete was torture enough, holding Cassandra close was her only compensation. It was almost as good as . . ._

_ "__Why wait? We both have swords." The Seeker recognized the glimmer in Eve's eyes. The Inquisitor's breath caught, hands tightening in excitement as she cast a quick glance around the room._

_"__Think they'd notice?" Trevelyan was already deliberately waltzing them toward the edge of the floor._

_"__Perhaps. Do you care?" The Nevarran knew the answer as they hit the carpeted side of the room and broke off dancing._

_"__Not a bit. You're explaining to Josephine though." Eve grinned, grabbing the Seeker's wrist to pull her outside._

Cassandra evaluated the picture in her mind, holding it still as she imagined the shock and scandal amongst aristocrats. It might actually be worth it. _And she did say she wants to dance._

* * *

><p>When at last the Inquisition and their companions crossed once more through the massive octagonal steel doors of Orzammar they were too tired to cheer but sighs echoed like prayers of gratitude. The Inquisitor vanished with Leliana and the Warden, swept away by industrious bureaucrats for complete debriefing. Cassandra dropped her supplies and sank to a crouch, the most she would allow herself to relax.<p>

The Seeker's mind and muscles had grown weary with complaints, starting when she unfurled her bedroll in the open camp the night before and growing in volume when she woke alone. Had she become so accustomed to such comfort in only two nights? The trek today had been an exercise that tested the limits of her discipline, focusing on their travels and safety and not anything relating to the Inquisitor a few yards ahead. The Inquisitor who kept glancing back over her shoulder to meet Cassandra's eyes with a gaze that radiated trembling flesh and sweat-slicked sheets. The Seeker concentrated on the path, decayed skeletons, rocks, the cool breeze from above that raised goosebumps like certain lips – _Focus, Pentaghast._ There were deep mushrooms, broken stone walkways, the smell of dirt which quite simply wasn't as nice as the scent of metal and leather that she inhaled from the Inquisitor's skin but tasted like – _Maker's Damnation! _

Orzammar meant they were close to finished. The Seeker couldn't find words to express how much she wanted this ordeal to be over, to be finally returned to Skyhold and all that it meant. _A warm bath, fresh clothes, hot food, privacy, a real bed ..._ Cassandra jerked to her feet, cursing beneath her breath. How the damned woman had inflicted this particular spell she had no idea but she was going to make sure she repaid it a hundred times over. The very thought of the Inquisitor seemed to summon her from thin air, walking back to the company and gesturing them all to gather around.

"Leliana and the Warden are wrapping up a few more questions with the Shaperate," Trevelyan announced, a roll of her eyes promising the polite formality could last hours, "We'll get our horses and supplies from the stables. Isabela, a letter arrived from Marnus Pell just yesterday. Your ship with the Inquisition company is returning to the Waking Sea and making for Jader. Any idea how long that will take?"

"One of my crew can write?" the captain asked in surprise. The Inquisitor handed over the letter as proof and Isabela quickly read through it, a frisson of pride in her smile.

"Write, yes. Spell? No." Varric snuck a peak from beside the Rivaini's elbow.

"Only because there aren't any naughty words. They're all good with those," the pirate shot back before focusing on the Inquisitor, "This time of year is fair winds. They could reach Jader as early as tomorrow but certainly by the day after. Balls! We have to get there first. Once they hit the safe port and offload the job is finished. We have to be there before they start drinking and whoring themselves to death."

"You do hate to miss a party." Hawke nodded sympathetically, earning a playful wink.

"We can head that direction. The Shaperate has tactfully suggested that they'd prefer the wardens not linger here anyway. Something about not wanting to have a beacon that would draw all the darkspawn in Ferelden to come smashing on the octagonal doors. If the timing is right then by tomorrow night we can be rendezvousing with our company and shipping the wardens safely back to Weisshaupt." The Inquisitor watched for nods of agreement from the entire audience.

"And then we can watch Isabela count rum barrels and bodies in her hold." Varric added.

"Rum gets drunk and bodies go overboard, shortbread. The only thing in my hold is booty." Isabela corrected, eyes darting merrily towards Hawke.

Cassandra left the audience before the conversation could devolve further. Even half way to the stables she heard ribald laughter behind her that promised the pirate had once again shown her nature. The Seeker tried to find the irritation she'd felt before over the lewd language and slatternly behavior. All she could muster was amused resignation. Whatever shape of problem Isabela was, she was Hawke's to deal with.

The Inquisitor caught up to Cassandra outside the stables, pulling her to one side of the building as the rest of the company headed in. The Seeker rested against the stone wall, watching Trevelyan as she stood in front of her warring with questions.

"Our company may be two days out from Jader. Do we wait for them? We could escort the wardens and then resume heading for Skyhold." Eve ran fingers through her hair, tangling in conflicting ideas.

"If we reunite with the rest of our allies then we can all return together rather than wait for word or reports. It would make for a more secure traveling company if more bandits have tried to set up camps along the road to Skyhold." Cassandra weighed the options aloud, already knowing which way she leaned. Much as she wanted to be home in the Inquisition's stronghold, she'd never put her own desires ahead of reason.

"But that means spending the night in a Jader inn. Possibly two." Eve's mouth contorted into a grimace at the thought.

"Are you complaining about straw mattresses and fleas when we've been sleeping amidst corruption and fungus?" The Seeker laughed in disbelief. They'd slept in the howling sands of the Hissing Wastes, the plague-riddled waters of the Fallow Mire and – at least once – the political minefield that was Val Royeaux. Had the Inquisitor really grown squeamish over common tavern rooms?

"I'm complaining that it isn't my bed!" Trevelyan corrected, scowling at being misunderstood.

"That Orlesian monstrosity really has you spoiled, doesn't it?" Cassandra sighed, shaking her head at the rare display of selfish indulgence. An exasperated scoff from the Inquisitor's throat accompanied her hand suddenly shooting out, palm resting flat on the stone wall inches from the Seeker's face.

"I want my bed because that's the only one that promises to have you between the sheets." Eve spoke quietly, their conversation separated from everything else by the barrier of her arm.

"You have grown quite bold." The Nevarran chastised but knew she gave herself away when she had to moisten her lips.

"I've always been bold, Seeker. Now I'm just impatient." The Inquisitor's smooth complexion and electric gaze was all Cassandra could see, the rest of the peripheral world was little more than a distraction. She tilted her face, turning her lips to the warrior's ear.

"Then this will help you learn an important virtue." She counseled, barely letting her cheek brush against Eve's.

"Cassandra," The Inquisitor's eyes closed for a moment to regain control, "You are slowly destroying every shred of virtue I have."

The Nevarran warrior smiled and rewarded the confession with a kiss, drawing Eve into the distracting pleasure of her lips before swinging around and reversing their positions. She pulled back, holding the Inquisitor against the wall with a light grip.

"Then it would seem we're even." Cassandra smirked and released hold of the other woman. She turned sharply on her heels, walking away to the sound of Eve's frustrated groan behind her.

* * *

><p>It was a blessing that the Inquisition horses knew so well to follow the roads beneath their hooves. Not a single rider could focus on the path they rode, too lost in the limitless blue of the sky and the warm, almost divine, light of the sun. People could go mad in darkness and each of them had tasted just a touch of that torture. Cassandra and Eve rode alongside each other part of the way, enjoying the exultant freedom of open air and endless horizons. When the Inquisitor was summoned to the head of the procession Cassandra continued taking in the light and air that had become little more than a memory below. With every breath she silently praised the Maker.<p>

"It's always nice when a hero wins their prize." Varric rode up alongside the Seeker. The Nevarran gave him a slight glance of confusion before following his gaze to the Inquisitor ahead. The knowing gleam in his eye and suggestive cock of one brow filled in the words he didn't speak.

"Victory is its own reward." The Seeker counseled, ignoring the dwarf's congratulatory grin.

"True, but I'd bet hard gold that Our Inquistorship prefers her reward to come with a kiss from a beautiful lady. The readers sure do." Varric's shrug tried to promise he was only concerned with his audience of random strangers and had no interest whatsoever in Cassandra, her role or who she'd kissed. For a master bluffer he could be a terrible fake.

"Varric, are you going to write about this adventure?" The warrior's brow creased, already imagining what horrific fictions he could invent from the skeleton of their story.

"Truthfully? Probably not," the dwarf shook his head, sighing in frustration, "It's not my usual style. None of the good guys died or got wrongfully accused of treason. No one even got a non-disfiguring, brutally dangerous disease! What kind of drama is that?"

"Very true. Perhaps you will end up writing children's stories after all." Cassandra teased the narrator with his own worst nightmare.

"A kids' book with Isabela in it? Riiiiiiiight.'See the pirate? What does the pirate say? 'Balls!' says the pirate.' No, I don't think so," Varric chuckled, dismissing the entire idea, "If it was going to be anything it would have to be a romance. There's been more than enough of it splashing around. But which one? That's where it gets tough."

The Seeker knew that the dwarf was a classic tavern storyteller, the sort of man that hates silence and will invent words to fill it. She stayed quiet, knowing he would eventually continue.

"They're all so different, you see," Varric finally elaborated, thinking out loud, "Nightingale and the Hero up there, those two are a story of faith. Faith in each other, in ending up together at any cost, in the virtues of duty and ideals of romance and the belief that doing the right thing will grant a happy ending for everyone. Including themselves. It's a bit sappy for my taste, especially since it's actually worked out so well this far,"

The dwarf rolled his eyes with a sound of annoyance, offended as only a writer can be that life insisted on going off-script. Shifting in his saddle, he continued,

"Isabela and Hawke are plain madness. They only stop fighting with each other long enough to decimate any enemy that comes between them. Anyone that dares threaten either of them unleashes an unholy vengeance that just fades into their own diabolical fun. Readers love the excitement and all the steamier parts but, for the life of me, I can't figure out how to write them without making it sound like they're dangerous to themselves and every other living thing that crosses their path."

"Perhaps it would be best if Thedas were properly warned?" Cassandra suggested, glancing over her shoulder at the two rogues far behind. It did indeed look like they were arguing again. Happily.

After those two summations Varric was quiet. Whatever the Seeker knew about storytellers, she didn't grasp that they knew their audiences better than anything else. When his silence grew unbearable the warrior gritted her teeth and spoke.

"And the Inquisitor? What sort of romance would she have?" She carefully left mention of herself out of the question, an omission she had to hope the blonde rogue wouldn't catch.

"That would depend on who she's with. If it was Blackwall or Cullen there'd be so much gallantry that they'd probably fight each other to the death over who gets to open the doors." Varric mused, a sidelong glance catching Cassandra's frustrated glower.

"Varric." The Seeker growled a hint of warning. It had been too much to think he would make this easy.

"But then, Blackwall is fairly serious about Josephine and Curly is just too boring. That takes them out of the running," the dwarf quickly continued, "If Her Worship showed an interest in Bethany – Sunshine's a cute kid, after all – it would be like one of those stories featured in the Randy Dowager. You know the type: valiant warrior helps desperate waif mage find release, plunging into the Deep Roads, dripping –,"

"VARRIC!" Cassandra's horse spooked and reared at the sudden venom in her voice.

"Seeker?" the dwarf pretended total innocence despite the heat of her glare.

"Why do I even bother?" The Nevarran sighed in surrender, turning away and spurring her horse to move ahead. At one time Varric might have truly enjoyed watching the Seeker suffer. Now, after all the Inquisition had been through, he only liked to make her squirm from time to time. Encouraging his own mount to speed, the dwarf caught back up to the subtly fuming warrior.

"But nothing could actually beat the real story," he didn't look at Cassandra as he spoke, just quietly offered the truce, "You and the Inquisitor? Honestly, Seeker, I couldn't invent anything half as epic. Overcoming distrust to unite amidst chaos? Alliance turning to love? Audiences don't just eat that with a spoon, they slather it over each other and lick it off."

"Comforting." The warrior rolled her eyes, not exactly appeased.

"Your story is devotion, Seeker. You two can stand together against anything that comes. You're both terrifyingly strong and I'm not just saying that, I nearly shit my pants every time you came near me for weeks! But with all that strength you each have in your own right? Together you've found something that makes you completely unbreakable. The power of you two combined is unstoppable. It's kind of," Varric, swept away in his own description, struggled to finish the glowing praise, "Awesome."

Cassandra didn't look at the rogue. If she looked straight ahead and focused on the sky she might actually keep from smiling or blushing or in any other way giving the dwarf one more credit to his swollen ego.

"You sound as though you have been watching us both for some time." She finally responded to the tribute.

"I'm always on the lookout for my next book, Seeker. I wasn't sure who would end up playing lead." Varric had a way of sighing when he was being honest, as though truth was more exhausting than fiction.

"So when did you know? That we would end up together, when did you guess?" Cassandra didn't doubt for a moment that the rogue had confidently made predictions and bets about exactly this outcome. When they returned to Skyhold he'd probably receive so much gold in winnings he'd never have to write again. It was a good thing he told stories for pleasure, not coin.

"Seeker, she had me write a book for you," the dwarf sounded like he was explaining the color of the sky to a child, "AND she made me swear not to tell anyone! Do you know how hard that is? A story I can't tell? Flaming ashes! I've a mind to write the whole thing down and pass it on so that ten generations from now my kids can give it to yours!"

"There won't be children, Varric." The Nevarran immediately corrected. The very idea was ludicrous. They were both women. And warriors. And . . . no, no children.

"Why not? Worried about whose going to be stuck home nursing while the other goes off and whips ass across Thedas?" the dwarf argued back, adamant for his side of the prediction.

"There is no need for it," Cassandra shook her head, trying to erase the very idea, "There are already too many Pentaghasts. Trevelyans too for that matter."

"Sure, but how many of them are like you?" Varric's question wasn't looking for an answer, only a thread of doubt, "It's just a thought, Seeker. They're doing amazing things with magic these days."

The warrior fought to block out the words. When that failed she focused in a different direction, trying to conjure any vague notion of the horrors such a future would contain.

_ "__I know the armor has served you well, Lady Pentaghast. Quite frankly, I don't want to have to smelt it down for refitting. I can make you something new, something we can adapt as time goes on. But I know how attached you are to your gear and it simply isn't going to work once you start to show." Harritt explained, keeping his distance from the fuming warrior in the dank space of the undercroft. _

_The Inquisitor wrapped an arm around the Seeker's shoulders, gently drawing the bite of her eyes away from the smith. _

_"__I'm going to kill him." Cassandra's voice was certain death. Even as she looked at Eve's sympathetic face she felt nothing but absolute, inviolable, fully justified rage. _

_"__You can't, love," Trevelyan gently counseled, "He's the only one that can modify your armor properly for the next 9 months."_

_"__Can he do it with one arm?" _

No. Definitely not an option.

_Cassandra flung open the doors of the council room, seldom given to such dramatic displays her frustration refused to be hampered by courtesy any longer. Storming to the war table she confronted Cullen._

_"__She wants to lead a party to go wipe out a wyvern's nest. In her 5__th__ month! Commander, you have to put a stop to this madness!" the Seeker demanded of the former Templar. Trevelyan had crossed to the far side of the room where she now stood with her arms stubbornly folded. The gesture only drew more attention to the swell of her abdomen._

_"__We've all advised against it, Cassandra. She's the Inquisitor! How are we to stop her?" Cullen pleaded in his own frustration. The Seeker looked to Josephine, seeing an agreeing nod of helplessness._

_"__Skyhold has a dungeon, doesn't it?" The warrior inquired, brow arched as she looked to the far window where her lover was watching them suspiciously. Cullen followed her gaze while pondering the idea._

_"__We could refit one of the cells to be more comfortable . . ." _

NO. Absolutely not. Cassandra crumpled the entire idea like paper and cast it aside. Not a single aspect was attractive or even practical.

_A three year old with a familiar cocky smirk and wild raven hair raced awkwardly across the grass, brandishing her first toy sword like Andraste's own. Her mother – the bad one – had taught her to say 'kissition' instead of Inquisition and now all of Skyhold echoed with her tiny, gleeful battle cry._

Maker's damnation. Cassandra growled in the back of her throat. She was going to kill Varric.

* * *

><p>The Drunk Ram Inn was one of three taverns in Jader and Isabela had insisted the Inquisiton company use it for the night. Whether that was because she'd been there before or merely loved the name was difficult to figure out. Those that fit in the lodgings available stayed while the rest moved on to other public houses along the quay.<p>

The open window let in a smell of brine that blended with the odor of stale alcohol. The noxious air was overpowering as Cassandra tossed in the itchy bed sheets. It had been hours since the company had all dispersed from around the roaring fire – in a fireplace for a change – and dragged their haggard bones to bed. Isabela and Hawke had vanished long before and were silent by the time the Seeker plodded to her room. She couldn't blame her wide open eyes on the sounds of blasphemy or nearby danger or even rocks gouging into her spine. She was awake simply because she couldn't sleep.

She couldn't sleep because . . ._Andraste save me._ Because the bed felt too empty, her skin too cold, the room too quiet without the presence of another to fill all those voids. Exhaustion would have to set in. Perhaps if they'd dealt with more than the occasional nest of corrupted spiders or pack of deepstalkers she'd be tired enough to sleep in an instant. But no taxing battles had worn her body or quieted the noise of her mind.

A creaking sound wound her every muscle tight, hand already reaching for the sword resting on the floor beside her bed.

"Nice to see you too." The teasing whisper came from a figure in the doorway, silhouetted in tavern light.

"What are you doing here?" Cassandra couldn't help but ask the most obvious question first. A soft chuckle followed the Inquisitor's shadow as she slipped across the room. The mattress tilted and creaked as the weight of a body slid in beside the Seeker.

"I told you, I sleep better with you next to me." Eve wrapped her arms around the Nevarran, pulling her close and tucking her face into the crook of the warrior's shoulder, inhaling the scent that promised to send her to dreams. Cassandra relaxed back into the hold, familiar warmth and breath already creating the silent lullaby her body had been craving.

"You traveled most of today with the Warden or Champion," the Seeker observed, hearing the heaviness of sleep in her own words, "What did you discuss?"

"Nothing special. Hero stuff." Trevelyan artfully replied without any information. Cassandra could feel the woman's smile against her shoulder.

"I see." She also felt the way Eve's fingers twisted into the cloth of her shirt, an inadvertent confession. The Seeker had definitely come up in conversation.

"I saw you riding with Varric," the Inquisitor quickly changed the subject, "You seemed to be having a good chat. Anything you want to share?"

"Nothing particularly interesting." Cassandra gave an equally evasive reply. Her eyes had grown too heavy to keep open.

"Really?" Eve pressed closer to the Seeker's ear, "Cause I just about fell off my horse when I heard him tell you we should have kids."

Cassandra went to sleep satisfied that the Inquisitor's laugh was wheezing from the pain in her ribs.

* * *

><p><em>Please review. What you enjoyed, what you hated, whatever. All helpful.<em>


	23. Jader

The bed swayed back and forth with each passing swell of waves. Hawke had learned to love the restful rocking of the ocean, despite her awareness that at any moment one of those surges might turn to violent tempest and knock her from the sleepy peace of her dreams. It had taken weeks to get used to everything moving, all of life set to the rhythm of the sea. Sometimes it crashed, fast and violent; otherwise it was indolent and carefree, the dancing water spraying up against the hull with the same casual ease as the seagulls swooping lazily overhead. She could hear them now, calling back and forth to each other with the plaintive cries that sailors interpreted into a hundred different omens but were most likely just conversations about fish.

The bed shuddered and rocked more violently, sending a jolt of panic through Hawke and she cursed. Either a storm was coming in or Isabela had let Celso take a bottle of rum to the helm.

"'Bela," The Champion reached out in the sheets, finding only empty space in the bed that caused a burst of panic, "'Bela?"

"Here, sweet thing." The low, throaty voice reached her ears, immediately soothing any worry. Knees slid to either side of Hawke's hips, warm and familiar weight pressing her into the mattress.

"Breakers," Hawke murmured, warring between the thrill of a body straddling her own and the dangerous toss of the ship, "Are we near the coast?"

"Yes, Hawke. We're on the coast. Now hurry and get your delectable ass out of bed." Isabela laughed, climbing off the sleepy Champion. The bed rocked once more with her departure and then stilled completely. Nothing was moving anymore. Hawke's brow furrowed, catching the sound of seagulls and ocean waves but none of the noise of boisterous crew or creaking wood. They weren't at sea. She pulled the tendrils of fact and memory together, recalling the previous night and its environs. Jader. They were in the port.

Rolling to her side Hawke managed to squint one eye open to find milky dawn light creeping into the room. They'd slept in an inn. Partly slept, anyway. What was Isabela doing up and about already? After days in the Deep Roads the comfort of a mattress should've been lure enough to keep her horizontal for the better part of a day.

"Why are you awake?" The Champion demanded in tired confusion but then noticed something even more unusual, "And you're dressed. Why are you dressed this early?"

As soon as Hawke realized that the pirate was clothed and armed she rose, flinging the bedclothes aside and lunging to her feet. Isabela never roused before noonday except for one of two things: gold or trouble.

"Shit, what did you steal, 'Bela? Who did you kill?" The sleep vanished from her voice but not her limbs as she struggled into her breeches.

"Excuse me? I was with you all night, Hawke. That hardly makes me innocent but I promise I was too busy to be committing any other crimes." The Rivaini laughed, catching Hawke before she lost balance trying to get her boots on.

"Oh." Hawke frowned, wishing her brain would catch up to the speed of events.

"Wait – you thought I'd killed someone? And you're jumping into pants to go do what, precisely?" Isabela arched an expectant eyebrow. Her hands glided up the Champion's back, tracing each fresh scratch that had been left by fingernails the night before.

"What I always do," Hawke shrugged with a smirk as she tilted closer to her lover's mouth, "Fix everything."

"You are too sweet," the pirate's approval purred over her Champion's lips before pushing her away, "Now hurry and get dressed. We have to get down to the docks."

Without further word or explanation the sailor strutted out of the room, leaving the door gaping wide with no concern for the half naked woman still inside. Hawke had long since stopped being surprised or embarrassed by such things. Half of Kirkwall had seen her tits at some point – if not in the Hanged Man when drunks accidentally entered the wrong room then certainly on the night Isabela managed to seduce her into making love on the mansion balcony in Hightown. The pirate had yet to meet an inhibition she couldn't shatter to pieces and shove down her smalls. So what was one more tavern?

Pulling on her tunic the Champion opted to forgo her usual metal gear. Her skin longed too much for fresh air and sunlight. She did not, however, neglect to grab her daggers. Going without armor was one thing but unarmed? Ludicrous.

Strapping on her weapons as she trotted down the stairs of the inn, Hawke found Isabela waiting beside a table where Merrill and Bethany were sharing breakfast. Not far away were several of the wardens as well.

"Is everyone up at dawn now?" The Champion wondered, nodding greetings to her sister and friend.

"Who could sleep with so much light?" Bethany's smile was almost as bright as the daylight streaming in the windows. After so much time in the Deep Roads it wasn't surprising that everyone rose with the dawn like devoted sun worshippers.

"Who indeed?" Hawke – who could sleep through light, dark, thunderstorms or an ogre attack – shot a glare towards Isabela.

"Don't pout, Hawke. It makes you look like your sister and I'm not supposed to think about her that way." The pirate teased, completely immune to her lover's discontent. For a split second the words 'what way' looked poised on Bethany's lips but a glance from her sibling made her think better of it.

"I suppose the sooner we go to the docks the sooner I can get back to bed," Hawke took Isabela's hand and pulled her in the direction of the door, "Come along, Captain."

"Sweet cheeks, you know I'll do anything when you talk like that." The pirate smirked and willingly joined her Champion's exit.

* * *

><p>Leliana watched from a distance as yet another excited Fereldan rushed to the Warden, overcome with wonder that the legendary hero could be found on an ordinary city street. The embarrassed woman did all she could to keep a low profile but there weren't many armed mages walking through Jader in the full regalia of a Commander of the Grey. Ten years since her stunning victory and the whole country still breathed with her legend.<p>

The familiar questions poured from every mouth: what actually happened to the Archdemon? What was Queen Anora like? Did the Witch of the Wilds really turn out to be good? Do you ever visit King Alistair? The predictable pattern inevitably wound around to the same ultimate query:

"Is it true you fell in love with a Chantry sister?" the young woman asking had clearly fallen in love with the story. Leliana had separated as soon as the crowd formed, hanging back to not attract notice. She leaned against a stack of crates, curious herself to hear how the Warden would respond.

"Lay Sister. No vows," Solona quickly corrected, her eyes darting towards the redhead with a tiny, almost guilty, smile, "And yes, I did."

"So romantic!" The girl squealed happily, "Where is she? The stories say you've been separated for years but long to reunite. Will you ever find her?"

The Warden fixed her gaze on Leliana now, not bothering to look at her audience. The bard felt a shivering breath part her lips. Even from this distance she could see the shine of adoration in the mage's eyes. After so many years it still could make her heart flutter, knowing it was only for her.

"Maker willing, I'll spend the rest of my life at her side." Solona confirmed. This also brought a chorus of sighs from the sentimental listeners. With a few more words of appreciation the Warden managed to disentangle herself from all the admirers, following Leliana as the bard retreated into a shop entrance.

"You just cannot stop being charming, can you?" the rogue teased as Amell arrived on her heels, closing the door before anyone could spot her redheaded companion.

It was doubtful anyone would recognize the future Divine but gossip could be like the wet season floods – unstoppable and merciless to anything in its path. Once the new Most Holy took the Sunburst Throne it wouldn't be long before people asked questions about the Warden who'd arrived in Orlais at her side. Those questions were pernicious spider webs that would creep across Thedas and gather up every hint of clue or whisper of scandal.

"I can't help myself. Particularly not with you around." the Hero shot back with a smile. She casually walked along the shelves, faking an interest in the merchandise. An excited dwarf behind the counter was extolling the virtues of an Antivan weave on fabrics but she didn't notice, ears tuned only to that lilting Orlesian voice.

"You're a shameless flirt. You nearly gave us away, you know." Leliana couldn't even pretend to sound annoyed, too pleased by the impassioned promise Solona had made to her in front of an entire unwitting audience.

"What can I say? You bring out the worst in me. Or maybe it's the best?" Solona turned her full focus back to the bard, ignoring the enthusiastic shopkeeper proffering some item of clothing.

"I think both, no?" the redhead allowed a flutter of amusement across her lips, "But if I can't trust you to control your honesty perhaps we must find some other means of hiding ourselves?"

"What did you have in mind?" The Warden's eyes lit up as soon as she felt lithe fingers grip her wrist and pull her towards a changing area. The excitement faded when she found herself thrust behind the curtain alone.

"Your armor is far too obvious, my love. I know it is beyond you to be ordinary but just for today, we can both pretend." Leliana's dulcet laugh was tinged with melancholy.

There was a bittersweet edge of longing beneath her words. There had been a time when everything was simple. Years ago all that had mattered was surviving, being together and doing what was right. Then it had gotten so infinitely tangled. Surviving had meant being apart. Now 'right' was in contest, a battle between the opinions of others and the voice of her heart.

Leliana recalled the pleasure on Mother Dorothea's face when she came back to the Valence chantry with her Hero. The holy woman had looked carefully at the Warden, scrutinizing her from head to toe before suddenly enveloping her in a hug of absolute welcome and approval. Solona had actually let out a squeak of surprise, never before greeted so enthusiastically by anyone. Years later Divine Justinia would often ask her Left Hand about the Hero; where she was, what she was doing, how they fared apart from one another. She hadn't just accepted Leliana's love, she'd encouraged it. If the Divine herself blessed them, who could truly oppose?

_I have lost enough. I will not lose her as well._ The spymaster silently repeated what she'd said to the Herald when this chaos began. She'd uttered those words in her heart a hundred times as a prayer to the Maker, a promise to herself. Now she could fulfill that vow. Any others that came before or after were secondary; she'd sworn her love would always be first.

A rustle from the scrap of curtaining cloth drew Leliana from her musing just as Solona stepped out. With her armor in her hands she looked infinitely more vulnerable but lighter as well, more like the inexperienced mage who'd stumbled into saving Ferelden. The bard smiled, stepping close and stroking away the hair that fell into her Warden's eyes.

"Now you are not the Hero and I am not Divine." She spoke quietly, words for only the two of them to share.

"If you say so," the mage agreed, one hand gently wrapping beneath red hair to cradle her neck, "Whatever you want to be, Leliana, I don't care. You're mine."

"Still flirting." The spymaster smiled, closing the distance between them. For today, at least, things could be simple once more.

* * *

><p>Seven years in Kirkwall had given Hawke a particular expectation of docks in other cities. They should be crowded with people and cargo and chaotic with business and bribery. There needed to be shifty cargo handlers, greedy quartermasters, derelict sailors looking for a berth and at least a handful of the most desperate whores, the kind that were too used up to even get hired for the brothels. The air had to be ripe with rotten bilge water and fish and the warring odors of a thousand different cargos that had left their scent staining the pavers. The noise of sea gulls shrieking in a battle over scraps would be an endless background to the curse-laden shouts tossed from ship to shore and back again.<p>

The Jader Docks had all of that. What they also had, however, was an extensive pier that circled the harbor and stretched into the water with moorings like wooden fingers reaching out to sea. Standing now on such a platform, Hawke found they were far enough away from the rest of the docks to hear the actual sound of waves breaking on the bay. She could smell the brine of saltwater and yes, there was always going to be the odor of fish.

"You know your ship may not even come in today." The Champion looked over at her companion. Isabela was leaning against the railing, staring out to the endless horizon of blues.

"I know. I just like being on docks." The pirate replied easily, folding her arms and relaxing onto the wood beam.

Hawke shook her head in resignation but couldn't help smiling. Isabela was in her element whenever she was near the sea. The two were made for each other. Turbulent, unpredictable, unstoppable and, above all: Free. Neither could be captured, neither confined. They were forces of nature to be respected, feared and - for an experienced, fortunate few – loved. Even now, watching the ocean breeze whip through Isabela's raven hair and flutter the white fabric over her hips, Hawke wondered if the sea wasn't greeting a returned friend. Perhaps she should be jealous. Could wind caress a body like the touch of a lover?

Folding her own arms on the railing in a posture much like the sailor's, Hawke gazed at the water as it lapped around the pier moorings. A tickling sensation on her arm drew her attention and she found dark fingers wrapping securely around her bicep, a small touch of connection that promised neither of them was about to get swept away by the waves.

"I know you don't like being at sea." Isabela broke the long silence.

"I don't like throwing up every day." The Champion corrected with a frown of distaste.

"That was only the first week. Besides, your ass looked nice all bent over the railing like that." The pirate recalled with a wistful, wicked smile.

"No wonder you steered us into storms once I started getting better." Hawke accused with a chuckle, catching an injured but mischievous look flitting through the sailor's amber eyes.

"Hawke," Isabela's voice turned more serious, losing the melodic fluctuations of flirtation, "Do you want to stay on land?"

"I want to stay with you, 'Bela. I know we said there'd be no tying down – ,"

"Just occasional tying up." The Rivaini couldn't resist.

"And I'm not the best sailor so Maker knows I'm not very useful at sea," Hawke continued, but had to admit the jibe made her smile, "But I'll learn. I can learn to love the ocean. In a way I already do."

A woman with less experience, confidence and self-worth than Isabela would've blushed at that, particularly given the soul-wrenching tenderness in the Champion's eyes. Instead she covered her reaction by looking away, staring back out to the horizon until she felt the swell of emotion ease out of her throat.

"We don't have to sail right away, of course," The pirate finally spoke, "I mean, the ship could use some repairs after fighting with those Vint bastards. Not to mention Bethany is here and she's simply got to be taught a few more things about really mastering a taint."

Hawke considered jumping to defend her sister's innocence – whatever she had left deserved to be preserved. It was only the way Isabela's eyes stayed set on the distance that stopped her. The sailor was fond of Hawke's younger sister; she loved clean things that she could dirty up. But she wasn't actually thinking of herself or Bethany right now.

"It wouldn't hurt to have some more time with her." The Champion admitted, careful to stay as casual as the sailor's own tone. Sincerity always made Isabela so uncomfortable.

"She's sticking with your cousin, which I suppose means she'll be heading up to Skyhold when the rest of the company returns." The Rivaini theorized, mulling ideas as she spoke.

"That seems likely." Hawke agreed. Leliana was still working for the Inquisition and Andraste's Flaming Sword itself couldn't come between the Hero and her bard now that they were reunited.

"Then we'll go to Skyhold for a spell. Just as long as Bethany is there." Isabela sharply added the detail. She'd been stranded on land indefinitely once before and wasn't about to repeat the experience.

"Sounds good. When they head for Orlais – or wherever wardens and heroes go for their happy ending – we can come back here and set sail. Anywhere you like for as long as you want." The Champion promised, seeing the worried lines near her pirate's eyes smooth out with relief.

"There are so many places I want to show you," Isabela's gaze became excited but still didn't turn to Hawke, "The sea is everywhere at once and it never leaves. It'll be here waiting for us. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"

"Just one." The Champion replied and reached to turn the sailor's face towards her, still marveling that this unattainable woman was willing to stay by her side. Isabela easily read the expression in her lover's eyes, pulling the hand away from her face and threading the fingers with her own.

"Sodding romantic." The pirate playfully accused but allowed herself to be enveloped in a secure embrace. The two women stayed for hours on the docks, Hawke wrapped protectively around the sailor as they both contemplated the empty horizon and everything held beyond.

* * *

><p>Leliana walked hand in hand with her beloved without exciting so much as a passing glance from any of the citizens on the streets of Jader. Without her distinctive garb the Warden was simply another woman. <em>But so unlike any other.<em> The bard smiled, glancing at the beautiful but unassuming hero. They'd spent the day allowing the mage to get used to being in civilization once more. After so many months below ground she had a tendency to charge spells every time a sudden movement caught her eye. Twice vendors had tried to reach out to attract her attention only to have their goods blown off display by tempest spells. They'd also had to buy a bribe for a little boy whose ball shot too close to Solona's head and erupted in flames.

Completely comfortable and at home amidst darkspawn and corrupted spiders the famed Hero got exceptionally twitchy amongst people. Eventually her reflexes calmed down, particularly once Leliana took hold of her hand and kept her glued to her side. Either the familiar touch made Solona feel more secure or the fact that her hand was occupied slowed her response time enough for her mind to catch up.

"What was it the Inquisitor wanted to speak with you about the other day?" the bard recalled her curiosity as the two heroes had shared such furtive conference. A subtle tension in the fingers held within her grip told her that she was onto something interesting.

"She asked how I won you." The Warden chuckled, clearly surprised by the thought.

"You? You 'won' me? That is not at all how I recall it happening." Leliana scoffed and began forming a stern rebuke for Trevelyan's assumptions. No master of the Game could ever be seduced without their permission.

"I tried to tell her but she's a bit," the mage paused, searching for a word, "Romantic? Or trying to be, I suppose."

"Ah, she's looking for ideas to woo Cassandra, yes?" the bard smiled as she realized the leader's intent.

What she knew of the Inquisitor suggested she'd never had need to win attentions or affections from anyone, certainly not the ladies of Ostwick. Seeker Pentaghast, with her stubborn pride, honorable soul and romantic heart was a woman completely beyond Eve's experience. The spymaster was pleased to know that Trevelyan was trying to be what the Seeker wanted. She had known the Right Hand for some years now and always wished she could have that touch of personal warmth in her life that was the Maker's own grace. Few deserved it more than she.

"I believe so," Solona confirmed, "I told her that if romance was a competition it was actually you that won. You, after all, were the first to bring up the question of being more intimate."

"I was not so gracelessly forward. I merely complimented your hair. It was you that decided to make assumptions, no?" Leliana smirked, able to clearly recall the hesitant flirtations as they'd tried to find each other's thoughts before giving voice to their own.

"Good thing I was right." The mage smiled, glancing eloquently down at their interlaced fingers.

"Poor Inquisitor, she will not learn much from your example." The redhead sarcastically sighed and shook her head. It was ultimately redundant. Leliana had already begun to fall for Solona long before she broached the subject of enjoying each other's company. She suspected the same was quite true of Cassandra. Once the heart has been given, the smallest gestures become romance incarnate.

"Better me than my cousin," Amell caught Leliana's near stumble, "Didn't you know she asked Hawke? Yes. Well, apparently she didn't think lewd jewelry or orgies would get her very far with the Seeker so she decided to come to me instead."

"And what did you tell her?" The bard fought away the mental image of orgies involving any of their companions. Not because they were unpleasant. Cassandra, Hawke, Isabela and the Inquisitor were all strikingly attractive women. Together they would certainly – Leliana shook her head. A future Divine was allowed an amount of latitude but those thoughts definitely crossed the line into unholy.

"I told her that gifts are empty if they don't mean something to one of you. They only matter when they show that you care enough to have paid attention. I learned your favorite flower was Andraste's Grace so I picked it wherever it grew. You didn't care for flashy jewelry but loved the Chantry amulet I found." Solona listed examples, wisely avoiding any mention of the catastrophe that happened when she offered the woman the wrong pair of boots.

"And you bought Schmooples even though he drove your Mbari crazy." The spymaster fondly recalled her first pet. The nug would sit so innocently in her lap and then go terrorize the dog the minute their backs were turned.

"The best was when Bodahn found that lute. I still think Sandal enchanted it. How many hours did you play for us at the campfire?" the mage happily remembered, unconsciously beginning to hum one of the tunes the bard had always favored. Shared memories drew them closer, wiping away the noise of the city to nothing but the starry skies and crackling flames that had graced the first nights of their love.

"Flowers, jewelry and music. I imagine even Cassandra would be pleased with such things." Leliana mused. Truly, if the Inquisitor was even half as motivated as Warden Amell had been to win over her beloved, the Seeker would learn that nothing in her novels could begin to touch the real thing.

Both women were jerked back to reality by a noise like stampeding brontos coming around the corner.

"Really, Captain, everyone does love a welcome party but we weren't expecting the entire Jader guard." The elevated, teasing voice was instantly recognizable. Imperium magisters had such a tone of arrogance beneath their words.

"You shouldn't have pulled weapons on watchmen." The sage voice of reason was a low rumble that conjured visions of black whiskers.

"They overreacted. Throwing drunks into the water isn't a crime, it's a public service." Isabela's familiar blasé confidence shot back.

"Right, you threw half a dozen sailors into the sea because you wanted to teach them the error of their ways." Dorian was clearly having fun.

"I was teaching them not to touch Hawke!"

"I didn't know I had any honor to defend. Am I supposed to be swooning now?" The Champion wasn't even pretending not to laugh.

"Absolutely. Swoon away. Best thing to do then is loosen all your clothes, innit?" The impish giggling glee was definitely Sera.

"I'd tell you to get your mind out of the sewers but it seems we're walking in one." Ah, that was definitely Vivienne.

Leliana halted Solona and pulled her to face the multi-voiced chaos as it appeared. Whatever had transpired on the docks had left marks on nearly every member of the company. Isabela was soaking wet and Hawke's fists were both bleeding. Dorian's robe had mud and seawater splashed halfway up his legs while Sera was trying to piece a broken arrow back together. Blackwall had the beginnings of a blackeye and Cole had both arms wrapped around himself in a self-soothing embrace. Only Vivienne and Iron Bull looked undamaged and even then the enchantress had lines of irritation marring her face and the Qunari was trying not to laugh.

They all came to a grinding halt when they saw the Inquisition spymaster standing in their path. A few sheepish looks were scattered amongst mostly amused or defiant expressions. Leliana scrutinized all of them before shaking her head.

"I don't want to know what happened, do I?" she finally sighed. There was no way she'd get the same story from any of them.

"My ship's back." Isabela offered the most pertinent fact.

"And Madame de Fer might have promised the Jader guards a few positions with the Inquisition." Blackwall added.

"That must have something to do with you all looking like you engaged in an alley-rat turf war, yes?" Leliana's arched brow dared any of them to lie.

"It was a misunderstanding." Hawke quickly leapt in to explain.

"You can't misunderstand a hand on your ass!" the Rivaini sailor rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, Isabela? After the number of times men have groped you?" the Champion argued, frustrated by the double standard.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak 'never gets sex again.'" Isabela crossed her arms and Hawke wisely shut her mouth.

"Leliana, are these the friends we were waiting for?" Solona's eyes roamed skeptically over the misfit crowd.

"I'm afraid so. Come along, the Inquisitor is going to want to hear this," the redhead turned on her heels to lead the company away, hiding the smirk growing on her lips, "Varric too."

* * *

><p>Playing Wicked Grace well required knowing not just your own hand but your opponent's as well. At the moment, Inquisitor Trevelyan was certain that Varric had a serpent, a knight, three daggers and an insufferably smug smile. She'd already lost 75 sovereigns to the card sharp and it stung her pride to know he probably hadn't even had to cheat. The only reason she kept playing was to keep her mind off Cassandra sitting nearby reading. Or maybe it was because Cassandra was sitting nearby reading that she couldn't concentrate.<p>

"I fold." Eve sighed and tossed her cards onto the table in surrender.

"C'mon, Inquisitor, you're never going to learn to play if you keep giving up." The dwarf chided, pushing the dealt hand back towards her.

"I keep getting bad cards." Trevelyan objected. Her luck was damnably fickle; it kept her alive through all the chaos of the past year but couldn't help her get a single set of four.

"That's when you learn how to play!" Varric laughed but gave into gathering yet another table full of his winnings.

"You would have won that hand." Cassandra stated without looking up from her book.

"How do you know?" Eve looked over in surprise. She'd assumed the Seeker was lost to a completely different world in the pages of the book she'd found.

"The fourth song was due to come up. If you'd been a little more patient it would've completed your hand." the Nevarran closed the book and spoke with simple authority.

"I thought you couldn't play cards, Seeker." Varric thumbed through the deck and found the song of autumn just three cards down.

"I can't. But I'm very good at watching others." Cassandra smirked, a darting glance to his wrist suggesting she'd been alert to any of his tricks. Eve quickly realized that Varric hadn't been playing fair out of good sportsmanship or pity.

Before Varric could lure the Inquisitor into another round of losses, the inn door swept in to admit a storm of boisterous, happy noise.

"The Drunk Ram Inn? Isabela, how I wish you weren't a woman." Dorian cackled as he took in the sign.

"Your loss, sweet cheeks." The pirate blew a kiss and swaggered past him.

"Do you suppose they have that Ferelden whiskey we get up at the hold? I've got two days of sea salt stuck in my throat." Sera had already clambered over the bar and begun rummaging the bottles, completely ignoring the protesting innkeeper.

"You drank enough rum to level an army and you're still looking for a drink?" Blackwall tossed coins onto the bar to silence the distraught man.

"You're just pissed I beat you. Big tough can't hold his liquor, eh?" Sera grinned and rose with a dusty brown bottle, pulling the cork out with her teeth and jumping up to sit on the counter and drink.

"But I won, if you recall." Iron Bull took the bottle away from the protesting elf, pouring half into a mug before handing it back.

"You were all equally disgraceful." Vivienne sighed, sweeping past the company with a tired shake of her head but tiny glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"And you owe me for two barrels of rum." Isabela added. Checking her stockpile had been the first thing she did after checking her crew. The one man missing from roll call was passed out amidst the barrels in the hold.

"Sounds like the voyage from Marnus Pell must have been quite interesting." The Inquisitor rose from her seat, the graceful movement gathering every eye in the room.

"You don't know the half of it." Dorian's face told tales of pained exhaustion, his tolerance and taste both pushed to the limit.

"Catch the winds, faster, home . . .they're waiting; bastard owes me money, she'd better have waited, plum and kidney pudding, the girl that can grab her ankles." Cole was swaying subtly from side to side, still inundated with the noise of a hundred men's eager thoughts.

"Easy, Creepy. Here, have a swig." Sera dropped off the bar and proffered the bottle.

"Spirits don't get along with, well, spirits." Blackwall pushed the liquor away. Cole shook his head, trying to erase the cacophony of images and feelings. Spying Merrill across the room he slipped gratefully over to her, wrapping himself in the silent calm of her presence. Bethany - who was standing beside Merrill - looked in confusion at the blonde boy who tucked himself behind the both of them but then simply forgot.

"Right, I think the first thing will be arranging some rooms for everyone. The wardens already offered to give up their rooms when you arrived so you could fill us in on the full report. I'm sure after some rest everyone will be feeling -," Trevelyan stopped as she saw her company of friends exchange glances with each other, all silently turning to Blackwall.

"Actually, Your Worship, we all decided we'd like to push on." The burly warrior respectfully explained.

"Continue to Skyhold. This afternoon?" Eve was certain that Dorian announcing an intention to become a Chantry Mother would be less surprising.

"It's not much more than a day's ride. We made good time coming down and that was with bandits," Blackwall continued to present their case, "We've been cooped up in berths and barracks for near two weeks. A night in an inn . . . It's just one more box."

"It would be good to be home." Bull added, the power of his voice subdued to nothing more than a sad rumble. He hadn't even hesitated on the last word. Skyhold was home. That was where they all wanted to be. The Inquisitor considered her friend's words. Scanning their faces she saw echoes of the warrior's sentiment in everyone's eyes. Whatever they had dealt with at Weisshaupt had left invisible bruises on them all. _What happened up there?_

"Wardens dying, betrayed . . . best friends, brothers, don't! . . . Can't see . . .screams, they don't stop. Crying, calling, cursing, crushed." Cole muttered the answer mournfully, tears running down his cheek.

Suddenly the spirit couldn't remain invisible to Bethany. She saw him, eyes wide with the shock of recognition. Without a word she wrapped both arms around the blonde spirit, pain echoing between them. Eve had almost forgotten what the Hawke girl had survived, what she must have witnessed. The Inquisitor's people had seen the aftermath with their own eyes and had to clean up the mess and now all any of them seemed to want was to wash away the bitter taste. Skyhold was balm for the pains of Weisshaupt and they longed for it like medicine.

"It'll mean riding all night." Eve pointed out, already feeling herself inclined towards the plan. Travel after sundown had unique challenges: staying on the path, detecting dangers, keeping awake, not losing anyone from the convoy etc. It was doable but more hazardous. Much as she longed for the comfort and security of Skyhold, she wasn't sure it was worth the risks.

"The dark is hardly a problem for us, Inquisitor." Leliana slid forward through the crowd, a turn of amusement at the edge of her lips enjoying the irony of their present moment.

"What out there could be worse than the Deep Roads?" Hawke chipped in her own opinion, securely positioned near the sister she'd raced into blackness to save and the pirate that had saved her in turn.

"I think they are right. Even if the others are tired, we are well rested. We can lead the way." Cassandra rose, confidence radiating off her like the faith of martyrs. The company looked to her almost as much as the Inquisitor herself, if the Seeker said the plan was doable then heaven itself couldn't stop them.

The Inquisitor finally nodded; a single, decisive gesture that gave her seal of approval. Grateful sighs and smiles bled away into excited preparations. Amidst the orders and elation no one would notice Cassandra turn closer to Eve, mouth resting just beyond her ear.

"We found our way in the dark before. We will again." The Seeker's breath was warm against her cheek and the Inquisitor could feel the touch of her smile. The warmth of her gaze as it met Eve's spoke of the Inquisition as a whole, their friends as a band and - most tellingly - the two of them alone. _We will._ Eve happily squeezed the fingers that had subtly slipped into her own. _As long as I have you to light the way._

* * *

><p><em>Please review. I'm worried this chapter feels disjointed and rushed but at this point I'm as eager to get everyone back to Skyhold as they are to be there.<em>


	24. Home

The Herald's Rest tavern was filled to capacity in every direction. It was the first evening with the full circle of the Inquisition safely returned and everyone was in the mood to celebrate. People who couldn't find seats at tables sat on the bar (much to Cabot's annoyance) or on railings and stairs. Varric held half the audience enthralled with tales of demonic rock wraiths, mad wardens and a soaking wet pirate. Hawke sat with said pirate – completely dry – and watched in amusement as a dwarf was explaining to several clumsy soldiers how to dance. She kept one eye on her sister across the room.

The younger Hawke had been surprised when her sister had insisted on reuniting old friends and dragged Commander Cullen over to her table. She was even more shocked when the Champion left them alone. Bethany could pretend all she wanted but Hawke knew the girl had nursed a crush on the dashing Templar during their days in Kirkwall. He might not have been the older sibling's first choice for her innocent little sister but Isabela had been relentless. And, of course, she was right: everyone deserves to choose their happiness. What the pirate actually said was: 'he's a templar, she's a mage; if that isn't hotter than a smith's forge then nothing is.' Hawke chose to read between the lines.

Isabela was also keeping her own protective but mischievous eye on a nearby reunion.

"Finally got you alone." Sera announced, dropping onto the bench beside Merrill.

"This is alone to you? There must be two hundred people about," the mage blinked in confusion, "It's almost as crowded as the alienage on Wintersday. Have you been to Wintersday? It's sort of happy and sad all at once and -,"

"I meant there isn't someone else's ass in the seat next to yours for a change," Sera interrupted, "I been trying to get near you since Jader. Between Creepy and Varric and the birds I haven't had a demon's prayer."

"Birds?" Merrill repeated before comprehension dawned, "Oh, Hawke! I wonder if they really are named for hawks. It would suit them wouldn't it? Hawke anyway, maybe not Bethany. I'm sorry," the mage realized from Sera's expression that she was getting off topic, "I didn't know they were in your way."

"Them and the rest of the bloody universe. I think the Maker was having a bit of fun with me. Couldn't even see you all last night in the pitch dark and soon as we get to Skyhold you up and disappeared. Like some damned game of hide and seek!"

"Isabela likes hide-and-seek," the brunette recalled hints of a conversation from the Deep Roads, "And she told me I should rest up today so I went to bed. I guess she thinks this is going to be a very late night."

"She's sharp then." Sera glanced over to the pirate, meeting her eye and tossing a wink.

"But I wouldn't have gone for a nap if I'd known you were looking for me. Did you want me for something?" Merrill continued, as eager to please as ever. The proximity of the other elf made her fingers twitch nervously. She alternated looking at her hands and around the room, reminding herself she couldn't just stare at the blonde's face – people always found it rude when she stared.

"Yeah, matter of fact, I do," the blonde grinned, "You're still alive and that means I get to finish what I started two weeks ago."

"Did you really think I was going to die?" Merrill couldn't keep avoiding the eyes fixed intently on her. Sera's gaze flickered, serious and vulnerable for just a moment before filling with her usual playfulness.

"Well, I had to hedge my bets, didn't I? But here you are, all breathing and such. And it looks like all your bits are still where they belong." Sera made a show of visually inspecting the mage.

"Do they? Oh, that's good." The brunette elf looked down, probably trying to ascertain what her 'bits' were.

"And you're alright inside too, then? I mean, no taint or whatever? I've had to pop into a clinic come the morning after but I don't think even mages have got cures for blight and shit." The blonde's laugh didn't completely hide the serious edge to her words.

"No, I don't think so," Merrill agreed, pleasantly confused but enjoying herself; she enjoyed Sera's laugh too, "The corruption only passes through blood anyway."

"Glad to hear it. Dangerous stuff, that." Sera nodded and took a long swig of her ale, her throat had become surprisingly dry.

"Blood? I suppose it is. I practiced blood magic for years, you know." The brunette volunteered, apparently happy to have found a relevant fact to add to the conversation. The news gave her companion a moment's pause.

"Is that so?" the blonde turned to face Merrill, leaning closer and dropping her tone, "Then I'll make you a deal: you don't do any magic and I won't bite too hard."

"I – that – of course -," the mage stumbled, blush reaching her ears and plunging down her collar, "I think that would be fine."

"Good. Cause I've been saving this for ages." Sera's fingers darted quickly to thread into Merrill's tied hair and pull her into their second kiss. The first kiss shared in camp all those days ago had been brief, almost tender as neither knew quite what was to come. This time the archer made sure that her hungry, thorough exploration of the other elf's mouth could leave absolutely no doubt. With every touch of her lips Sera described in detail everything she intended to do; with every passing second it became clear she planned to do all of it tonight.

"She looks like quite a kisser." Hawke observed, following Isabela's gaze.

"Kitten isn't doing too bad herself. I'm so proud." Isabela faked a dramatically emotional sigh. It turned into a real laugh when Merrill's enthusiasm nearly knocked both elves off the bench.

"Who knew the Inquisition was such a romantic place? Dwarves dancing, elves kissing, Dorian trying to not be noticed while groping his Qunari friend." Hawke smirked at the festivities on all sides.

"I guess they know how to party," Isabela grinned, "Too bad your cousin is missing it."

"I think she and Leliana are catching up on some private time." The Champion managed to turn the innocent phrase into blatant suggestion.

"Mmm. I can just imagine." The pirate's deviant mind danced with pleasant memories.

"They've earned it." Hawke's arched brow warned her lover that the two women deserved their privacy, which included not being a source of lurid fantasy to the salacious Rivaini.

"And no sign of the lovely Lady Inquisitor either. So disappointing." Isabela pouted, dragging her thoughts away from their creative imaginings.

"I have a feeling she's occupied as well." The Champion's arm wrapped around the sailor's waist and pulled her close to wipe away thoughts of other women.

"Yes, getting her hands on the Seeker's helm," the pirate's mind wandered dreamily once more, "Do you suppose once she's broken in we might be invited for some fun? I'd love to see what's under all that armor."

"I'm pretty sure Cassandra would kill you." Hawke shook her head adamantly. She'd seen death in the warrior's eyes the last time Isabela went near the Inquisitor.

"That's who I meant, sweet thing," the pirate broke into a laugh, "Why did you think I was flirting so hard with the easy one? I know a package deal when I see it."

"You wanted the Seeker this whole time?" Hawke demanded, dumbfounded. She'd never known the Rivaini to play such complex games. Her most elaborate seduction usually involved not wearing smalls for the day. It worked damn well, too.

"No, I wanted you," Isabela quickly corrected, looping both arms around the Champion's shoulders, "But I can't help it if something pretty catches my eye along the way."

"Isabela, you are insatiable." Hawke laughed and tilted to cut off the pirate's reply with her lips. The kiss rushed from affection to appetite almost as soon as they touched. The pirate broke away, already breathless but determined to finish the conversation.

"So you'll think about the foursome?" Isabela's flushed lips turned into a teasing smile before surrendering to her lover's mouth once more.

* * *

><p>Cassandra only knew the sun had gone down when it grew too dark to read the ink on reports in front of her. Groaning a mild curse she leaned back in her chair, rubbing the soreness away from her eyes. They hadn't even been back at Skyhold a day and already duties had swept her away like a deluge. Soldiers and messengers were waiting at the stronghold's gates, swarming the returned leader and her companions. The Seeker barely had time to spot the Inquisitor rushing towards the main hall before she was bombarded with reports and enquiries.<p>

The long night ride had been taxing and slower than day travel but the sight of Skyhold's familiar battlements at dawn had made the rigors worthwhile. A shame the relief was so short lived. There were rumors of other seekers who escaped Lord Lucius' betrayal, questions from all levels of the Chantry, soldiers petitioning to be trained by the famed dragon-slaying Right Hand. Cassandra's weary eyes wandered over the dozens of papers littering the table in her quarters that served more often as a desk. Was the Inquisitor equally inundated?

The Seeker hadn't left her room the whole day but the occasional servant bringing more letters informed her that Her Worship hadn't left the council room for a minute either. _And so it goes._ Cassandra sighed, sadly realizing her predictions would be correct. It could be the better part of days before either warrior caught up to the emergencies of their absence. That meant days before they might finally see each other.

Lighting a candle Cassandra toyed with the notion of shoving all the papers to one side with a shout of 'Maker take you!' and going to see if Trevelyan hadn't felt the same. She quickly rejected the notion. If the Inquisitor wasn't still ensconced with her counselors then she had probably collapsed from exhaustion. The Seeker wasn't going to interfere in either case. Glancing toward the wood palette that constituted her bed she felt the tug of weariness in her muscles. The desire for sleep, however, had to war against her distaste for the empty space. She longed for sleep but not alone.

Footsteps on the stairs caught her ear and Cassandra let herself imagine – for only a second of hope – that Eve had been feeling the same and decided to act. The Seeker didn't lack for boldness but she respected the hierarchy of the Inquisition. She couldn't distract its leader or take her time. Not without permission. The catch of her breath confessed how desperately she wished the Inquisitor would do what she couldn't.

"Lady Seeker?" A head poked hesitantly up to the second floor, searching for the Nevarran warrior.

"Here." Cassandra sighed and got to her feet. More letters and reports? Another demand from distant relations seeking favor? She did her best not to scowl at the hapless messenger but every interruption so far this day had only exacerbated her burdens.

"I was told to deliver this." The servant nervously pressed the folded paper into the Seeker's hands and rushed away. Cassandra stared after him for a moment, too surprised to even express thanks. Suspicion unfurled excitement into her blood. The paper fluttered in her hand, trembling so very slightly with her fingers. She tore the seal, opening the letter to find a single line.

_Even if it takes all night, I'll be waiting for you._

The Seeker laughed. She laughed because if she didn't she would have sobbed with the relief of seeing the warm invitation reaching out in those words. Folding the paper back up she started to place it in the folds of her armor but changed her mind. Moving to the small pile beside her bed that constituted all the warrior's earthly possessions, she carefully found the issue of Swords and Sheilds that Varric had so begrudgingly gifted to her. Cassandra carefully placed the note inside the book cover, certain that there it would never be found nor lost.

All thoughts of sleep had vanished from her mind. Energy charged her steps as the Seeker moved with as much dignified speed as possible towards the main hall. She barely registered the noise of celebration from the tavern in the distance, her ears too deafened by her own pulse. She took the stairs two at a time and strode purposefully through the throne room, mouth the same firm line of determination that always kept others out of her path. Everyone had gotten used to the Seeker's frown meaning trouble and knew her urgent pace could only be headed to the Inquisitor. She felt the susurrus of confusion and fear rise in her wake. _What happened now? What's wrong? It must be important. The Seeker and Inquisitor will handle it, they always do._

She reached the handle of the door to Trevelyan's quarters just as her mask began to crack. She swung the door closed behind her and rested against it as a smile spread over her features. Mysterious meetings, anonymous notes, late night visits; the sheer indulgence of the secrecy was too rich to ignore. Everyone would know soon enough, if not tonight over drinks and stories at the Herald's Rest then certainly tomorrow when no servant could keep their mouth shut. For tonight, however, she felt like she'd wandered into the plot of a novel.

That had to have been the Inquisitor's intent. Cassandra realized the deliberate orchestration as she climbed the first flight of stairs and found a cascade of red stretched into a path before her feet. Bending over she lifted a handful of the rose petals, raising them to her face to inhale the fragrance. _Where did she get so many?_ The Seeker smiled and walked carefully along the side of the delicate trail, careful not to disturb it with even the breeze of her gait. Ascending the second flight of stairs Cassandra pondered where the flowers led._ If they head straight to her bed . . ._ The Seeker could already think of a few words of scolding rebuke. They vanished from her tongue when the image of a naked Inquisitor draped only in sheets and roses flashed into her mind. _She is a unique brand of unholy._

Reaching the Inquisitor's chambers Cassandra saw that the rose petal trail flowed towards the open balcony doors. The Seeker struggled with dueling reactions of relief and disappointment as she passed the unadorned bed. Both emotions were flung aside as she emerged onto the waiting balcony. The stone veranda was lined with candles, a hundred or more all outlining the balustrade and bathing the night in a warm glow. In the midst of the light Cassandra saw a table to one side holding a bottle with glasses and the Inquisitor rising from her seat.

"You came faster than I hoped." Eve beckoned the Seeker over, pouring wine into both glasses.

"I'd have been here sooner if I knew this was waiting." Cassandra took the offered glass but set it back onto the table, preferring to pull the other woman into a kiss of appreciative reward. The Inquisitor struggled to get her own glass safely onto the table without spilling before wrapping both arms securely around the Seeker pressed against her.

"You like it then?" Eve asked when they both had to break away to breathe.

"It's beautiful." Cassandra looked around the romantic setting. She hadn't thought such delicate splendor could be real beyond the pages of a book. The Inquisitor's happy smile outshined the candles. She stepped away from the close embrace, leaving the Seeker with a chill where their bodies separated.

"Dance with me." Trevelyan executed a formal bow and extended her hand in invitation.

Cassandra hadn't even realized there was music until the Inquisitor swept her into step with its time. Her feet easily fell into the pattern of the waltz, following the distant strains of music and the comfortable lead of the Inquisitor's guiding hand on her waist. Candles flickered in the periphery of her vision as they spun, a hundred points of light that mirrored the stars above. One song segued easily to the next and they adapted to the rhythm of each but never moved apart. Cassandra silently cursed the armor that kept her from feeling the warmth of the body pressed close to hers. Eve's face filled her gaze, parted lips only a breath away and the color of her eyes brilliant with the reflected light.

After four dances the Seeker had to stop and catch her breath. Not from the exertions of dancing but from the strain of her discipline. The Inquisitor's hand had scorched through the fabric of her doubling, leaving her to wonder if she wouldn't find finger marks on her naked skin. She could scarcely hear the music to keep time as her own breath and blood drowned out all other sound. She stepped to the table and drank from the wine poured earlier.

Eve approached from behind, taking the glass from her hand and draining the rest of the contents. Cassandra was mesmerized by the color the claret left on the other woman's mouth, the faintest trace of moisture glistening in the light. If she gave into the urge to taste the wine on Eve's lips she wouldn't be able to stop.

"Where did you find musicians to play Orlesian ballroom dances this night?" The Seeker wandered to the edge of the balcony to listen more closely. The night air did much to cool her skin but couldn't extinguish any of the heat that rushed beneath.

"Scout Harding has been wanting to give dance lessons in the tavern ever since the Winter Palace ball. I merely suggested that tonight would be a good time." The Inquisitor explained casually, stepping to Cassandra's side and resting a hand on the small of her back. The touch sent a spasm into her spine as her muscles tightened with anticipation.

"In the tavern?" The Seeker strangled the hitch out of her voice, "Amazing they haven't degraded to jigs and bawdy ballads."

"Not with the bag of gold I paid them." The words hit her ear like the caress of lips, Eve's mouth so close she could feel the tickle of breath in her hair.

"Then we mustn't let it go to waste." Cassandra turned and slid back into dance position. Before the Inquisitor could draw her into the dance once more, she held up a staying finger and stepped back. The Seeker unbuckled her cuirass and placed it on a chair and then resumed the more intimate embrace. Eve's breath came out as a sigh as she gathered Cassandra close, able to feel the curves and heat of her body as they fell into step once more.

No Orlesian ball would ever allow two dancers such intimacy, scandal would whisper behind every mask. Not even in Nevarra could the Seeker recall being pressed so tight to another that she felt each breath before it became air. There wasn't an inch of her not tingling from the pressure and heat of contact.

"Music, candles, flowers; when did you find the time for all this?" Cassandra stopped pretending to hold formal position, her hand slid up the Inquisitor's arm to drape around her neck.

"I might have asked Leliana to send a raven when we left Orzammar," Trevelyan admitted, her freed hand now spread wide between the Seeker's shoulder blades, feeling the torture of tension and relief battling beneath her touch, "Josephine is an accomplished miracle worker."

"You enlisted your council?" The Nevarran laughed in surprise, trying to picture the war table map holding a marker titled 'Romance the Seeker.'

"Why did you think I rushed to meet with them as soon as we got back? I wanted everything to be perfect." Eve's smile was proud of her efforts but hinted at nervousness beneath. She still wasn't certain it was everything the Seeker wanted. The vulnerable worry that flashed in her eyes confessed that this was all new for the Inquisitor; she'd never done anything like it before.

"It is perfect. Truly." Cassandra stopped dancing, needing all her concentration to focus on the moment spinning around them. Tilting up she brushed her lips across Eve's. The Inquisitor's grip immediately pulled her deeper into the embrace. Languid tenderness and fevered desire warred back and forth in a kiss that tasted of wine and unspoken words. When the Seeker drew back, licking her lips to savor the tingling aftershocks, she saw Eve's own reddened mouth curling into a smirk.

"Something amuses you?" Cassandra's arched brow challenged.

"I love how you look after we kiss. You get this glitter in your eyes like you read my mind through my lips," Eve's fingers cradled the Seeker's face, savoring an expression she'd never get tired of seeing, "Then you get that coy twist in your smile and it makes me think you found all the dirtiest thoughts and picked a favorite."

"Perhaps I did." The Nevarran slid her hands down the front of the Inquisitor's jacket, toying with the many, many buttons she itched to unfasten. She began to walk backward, tugging the other woman to follow her into the chamber behind.

"Don't tease, Cassandra," the Inquisitor begged, "Maker knows I don't have the strength."

"No games," the Seeker assured, "And no more courting. I think we've both waited long enough."

With that final word Cassandra spun them around, closing the balcony doors with a kick and capturing her love's mouth with the promise of everything that was to come.

End.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to everyone who was so positive and helpful in their comments. Hope you enjoyed the story.<br>_


End file.
